


Winter Sun (Stucky Ver.)

by Keitmeg



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton Friendship, Dark Steve Rogers, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Hypnosis, Killer and Prey, M/M, Mind Games, Pharmacological Torture, Plot Twists, Seizures, Slow Build, Temporary Mind Break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-10-30 11:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 137,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keitmeg/pseuds/Keitmeg
Summary: [“Your body,” Steve whispers in a silvery voice that makes Bucky's entire body quiver with something, dare he say, exciting. “I need only think of it and I’m hard again.”]





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

Clint’s childhood friend, Bucky, has epilepsy.

Bucky’s normal life took a swan dive for the worse when he turned seventeen and suffered a severe head injury in a car crash. Now he’s twenty-one years old, and he has to take anti-epileptic/anti-seizure drugs for the rest of his life.

Despite the new-fangled burdens that tag along with having his body convulse randomly, Bucky always keeps his game-face on, never allowing disheartening thoughts to change his mindset. As his childhood friend puts it, he has a mysterious touch to him. Sometimes he doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and he keeps to himself. But that only happens on occasions; the rest of the time, he’s sociable, easy to approach, and a joy to have around. It’s probably why Clint’s closest friends decided to take him along on their little road trip towards the capital.

At first, it was Edwin’s idea; and, seeing that they finally had a rest from the long terms of college’s stressful days, he called for an adventure in a rented van. He told his friends, including Clint, that next weekend their favorite band will be performing at the capital, and they would have fun sightseeing the cities before they arrived at their destination. It is a win-win situation. The rest of the friends: Wanda, Sam, and Gamora all agreed, except for Clint who tried to reason with his friends to go without him. They are all close, even if Bucky doesn’t get along with them. He only bore with their company for Clint’s sake, and the latter has known that all along. To any ordinary onlookers, Bucky would come across as that one person who is either cold or disliked, an introvert so to speak. But that’s not the case, at least as far as Clint believes. It’s just, ever since the accident, Bucky has... matured, remarkably so. But even considering the idea of ditching their friend, Clint, seemed outrageous as they insisted he tags along.

When Clint told them he promised his childhood friend that he’d take him somewhere, they suggested it’s all the more reason to come because they could all go together. When he offered the idea to Bucky, the young man became excited because he has never been outside his town, so it sounded quite appealing.

He was advised by his father to take all his medications and toiletry kit, which he thought was absurd; being epileptic for over four years kind of makes you an expert at drills like these.

The next day, Clint and Bucky stand by the latter’s doorstep, waiting for the rental to come into view. After minutes of waiting, a beat-up white van finally drives into their neighborhood, weighed by five of Clint’s friends. Much to Bucky’s chagrin, the most obnoxious and big-mouthed guy, who just won’t stop rubbing him the wrong way, Peter Quill, is here to prove Bucky how disappointing his luck is. The childhood friends greet them after stuffing their bags into the trunk.

Clint’s friends, even Peter, knew all along about Bucky’s medical condition and the side effects of his drugs. They also know about all the possible triggers that might initiate his seizures, so they promised to keep their heads up.

 

 

The ride is fun. Bucky finally has a proper chance to speak to some of Clint’s friends, even the ones that are notorious for having a real mean-streak and a hard penchant for punching anything that dares to check them up.

Bucky appreciates the company.

  
It’s around nine in the evening when Sam, the one who’s been driving, calls it a close quit after they fill up the van at the next gas station. Wanda is riding gunshot and switching between stations for some music to her liking, which, mind you, she still doesn’t find. Gamora is reading a magazine and Edwin is in the backseat with Peter, smoking trashy pot and hollering at any passing cars like your regular teen stoners under the bleachers. Now, the only problem Clint has with those two inhaling burned weed at the very back is their inconsideration towards his friend’s health. First, it’s August. The roads are roasted outside by now because the heat is hotter than the concrete can handle. They turned the AC on in the car at some point because of  _that_  heat. Secondly, they can’t smoke with the windows closed; but if they open them, some of the heat will come in and irritate Bucky. It’s never been an issue, and it’s not going to be now, but Clint likes to play it safe. Besides, Marijuana is just another type of drug. Inhaling marijuana is the same as using it, and using drugs will trigger his seizures. So because of Bucky’s anti-seizure side effects, Clint rules out his friend’s pretty rough ride.

Wanda reads their next destination off her paper map, and she tells Sam to take the next detour onto the dirt road. The three in the backseat fell asleep after having exhausted themselves. Gamora does the same too since everything is pitch black outside. There is nothing that breaks the visual monotony of dark outlines; hardly fascinating stuff.

Bucky is propping on the door handle by his forearm, temple on the glass. He listens to the low hum of the engine and the quiet whispers of Clint and his girlfriend’s hushed murmurs, slowly pulling him to sweet oblivion.

 

Blurry images of his car crash flash like a speeding cassette until he was shaken awake by a violent jolt. He looks around, and he sees how everyone is looking at themselves. His friend is lifting his head off the window and checking on him.

“I’m fine,” he tells him. He eyes the other passengers and switches back to Clint, worry latent in his voice. “What happened?”

“Freaking Wanda is what happened!” Sam bellows behind the wheel, and it’s only then it registers that some of the sunlight has caught up to them. “She’s been giving me the wrong directions, and I’ve been driving in damn circles for the past two hours!”

“Oh, now it’s my fault!” Wanda counters, her nose flaring with rage. “Not my problem you’re a lousy driver!”

“Who you calling lousy, you–” He glances over at her and then back at the road, still grappling for the word. When that proves futile because he’s seeing too much red to think straight, he pokes where it hurts. “You can’t even read a freaking road map!”

Edwin drawls, still slightly shaky from the bump. “Lay off her, Sam.”

“And who are you,”–Sam glares into the rear-view mirror–“her spokesman?”

“I’m the guy who’s gonna punch you if you glare at me like that again.” Edwin swings a forewarning index at the other, whose brows twitch at the sinister words that for sure will work to convey the hint in the dread of the night. He’d probably mope on what-ifs. Edwin is quite proud of his achievement.

“Back off, Ed.” Sam punches the steering wheel when he finds nothing else to vent his frustration on.

Bucky ignores their squabble and quickly looks out the window. He sees nothing but woods. Unending rows of thick pine trees lined like a chess board. Clint asks his friend to stop the car so they can brainstorm their next move. Sam immediately complies, pulling over to a little space beside the dirt road with a sudden halt that has the van’s structure rattling in protest. Everyone gets out, breathing in the morning breeze before the sun makes an appearance. Peter and Edwin take a spot beside the frontal tree lines to finish their joints. The former tries to light another cigarette, hoping the nicotine would ease off some of his irritation. Wanda and Sam call on a war to glare at each other. If looks could kill, they would have glared each other to their graves by now. Clint and Natasha stand on the opposite roadside to look at the daisy flowers trying to grow radiant despite the insufferable heat.

Bucky takes it all in with blank eyes. He checks the van to make sure everything is intact.

That jostle was quite rough, and it might mean that they may have gotten a flat tire. He checks all four tires and finds a punctured cut on the one at the driver’s side. He squats down for better examination; the findings awe him.

“Guys!” he calls out with a skeptical tone. “You gotta see this.”

Those who paid attention and weren’t too doped came, asking about the reason behind his stunt.

“You see this hole here,” he said while pointing at the hole with his index. When he got their ‘yeah, what about it’, he said, “It’s caused by a sharp object.” When only quizzical brows get cocked at him in a ‘newsflash, captain obvious’ gesture, he adds, “We’re in the middle of nowhere, and the tire got a puncture the size of my fist?”

“Lots of tires get deflated on dirt roads, Bucky,” Natasha reasons with him while scraping a stray pebble with her cuffed boots. “It’s probably just the heat. We’ll get it switched.”

“I don’t think it’s that cut and dry.” Bucky lifts off to his feet, moving his head in an almost imperceptible shake with his eyes fixated on the tire. “I’ll tell you this much, there’s no way the heat did that.”

“What’ ya saying then, Inspector Gadget?” Peter prompts, “This isn’t the ‘Hills Have Eyes’ stupid little show to flaunt your nerdy knowledge.” He approaches Bucky with a little totter in his walk. “Or you must be slacking off on your daily shot.”

Clint puffs out his chest. He already hates him from school. Why did Edwin have to invite him too? “Talk to my friend like that again, and you can bet your filthy ass I’m ‘a cut your filthy balls, dumb-shit.”

The defiant look in his eyes makes Peter clamp down, but not for long. “We were just having a decent conversation before you interrupted and made a mountain outta a freaking molehill,” he scoffs.

Clint wraps his arms around his chest and tilts his head, goading the other for one more word… one more word and so God help him.

Peter reads the vibe. But still hating the loss and wanting a little revenge, he turns around and mutters over his shoulder, “Handicaps.”

Edwin has long since stopped burning his joint so he can watch what’s going on just like everyone else. There are several disbelieving gasps uttered. Clint darts forward after him like a bullet to latch at him, but Bucky catches him by the arm. He squares his shoulders when Clint tries to pull from his grip. “Leave it.”

Clint does, but only after Bucky refuses to ease the pressure on his arm.

 

Now it’s certainly on the table that they’re in the middle of nowhere with a busted van. The map that Wanda has been reading turned out to be upside down all this time. It’s time to push their arguments behind them so they can try to come out of this before the concert even begins.

 

********

 

“Agh”–Gamora heaves a sigh, plunging her phone back into her pocket– “the signal is still not coming back.”

Some of them have tried to use the games on their phones to keep from the stifling boredom, but they soon realize that they can’t even receive a decent signal. Not to mention they don’t even know where they are exactly, and adding the heat onto that, they might as well give up on the good fight.

“Alright.” Natasha claps once. “Let’s switch the tire and find our way outta this hellhole.”

Sam agrees. He forgets about Wanda for now because the rental needs his attention more. He’s going to make sure every one of them pays their share for the busted tire. Wanda then approaches Clint to complain that she fell asleep at some point; it’s not her fault they’re here. It’s not something Bucky has the heart to stomach right now. He knows that she was the one reading directions off the map, and you don’t handle that kind of responsibility unless you were apt to. He retreats from there and slides his arm inside the van from the window to grab a bottle of water since his case is a little bit different. Not special mind you, but he knows he needs to keep hydrated.

“You didn’t bring a spare? What are you” Peter suddenly rebukes angrily. “A freaking moron?”

“I just,” Sam mumbles, guilty and all. “I didn’t think we’d be needing an extra.”

Bucky approaches them after discarding the bottle inside over his seat.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Peter bellows, throwing his hands in the air like a madman. “This is just great!” While huffing, he kicks a stray cluster of pebbles and storms away from them to try to calm down. Gamora is quickly on his trail because seeing him upset makes her upset.

Bucky watches all this with attentive eyes now. He then looks around him. He scrutinizes the sedimentary rocks and the banded ground flooring the earth. He takes in the sky growing whiter with the rising sun, and the trees surrounding them from every corner. He rules out their dire need of directions. He asks Wanda to hand him the map, and when she does, Bucky takes it with such determination that it sparks hope in their eyes.

“You know where we are?” she asks with her adenoidal voice, urgency evident in her way of asking.

“I think so, yeah.” Bucky tells her the good news, and then he spreads the map on the van’s hood. “We filled up gas in this little town here, right?” He motions at some very faint writing on the map which Wanda keeps on staring at. Bucky then realizes that she has no idea what he’s talking about and he can’t believe she’s the one who has been reading off directions till now. “Look, we must have wandered off to this side of the road when Sam thought he’d been going in circles, it only means he was driving on this dirt road for a few hours thinking it was the same path.” He taps on a greenish area on the map with his slender index. “Place here looks all the same anyway, so it only means we’ve been going in here farther. If we turn back, we might catch sight of the main road.”

“But without the van that’d be hours,” Natasha notes. Bucky gives her credit for being able to read the distance. “There’s no signal, and no other cars have driven past on this road yet,” –Alright, that’s more than Bucky bargained. He hopes Natasha doesn’t voice out any other misfortunes. These guys can only handle so much– “And our van is a goner.”

Bucky doesn’t order her to quiet down because hiding these things only serves to run from the truth which is glaring harder than the sun overhead. Bucky thanks her for the effort in a brisk, firm way, folding the map in the meanwhile.

“So–” Gamora wraps her arms around her chest. “Are we just going to wait or what?”

“I’m afraid it’s more than that.” Bucky sighs bitterly, “Listen, guys.” He wets his lips. “I’ll head to the main road and try to get to the town we were at last night,” he says, now looking into the eyes of each one of them as they look worriedly back at him. “I’ll try to get help.”

“But Bucky”–Wanda tilts her head–“you’re…”

When Bucky deciphers the meaning, he only smiles. “I know.”

Yes, he is epileptic. This little trip might cost him his life, but it’s not like he’s ready to camp out here and wait for death to creep in slowly. The van is out of order, and it could be days before another car comes on this road. He might as well do something about this since he can read that map. He opens the door to the van and gets inside. He grabs a couple of water bottles and some snacks before putting everything in his red backpack. When he comes out, he finds Clint standing next to the van with everyone else.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he urges, one brow cocked in a very patronizing manner.

Bucky chews on his bottom lip before sighing, “Clint, I’m not going to keep repeating myself to each one of you.” He says forcefully, “I found the way that will take me back to the main road and I’m taking it.”

“Yeah,” Clint scoffs. “Keep on dreaming.”

“Clint, I love you, but I’m not going to wait for your permission like little goody-two-shoes.” He takes out his phone to check if it’s charged. Sixty-five percent is not a bad number.

“You’re not going anywhere, alright?” The shorter male deadpans, “The last thing we need over this pile of shit is you having a seizure in the middle of nowhere. What help could that be? Tell me.”

Everyone watches as the two childhood friends keep on ripping into each other. They know better than to heckle them, especially with Clint turning on his protective detectors. They wait in hopes he simmers down to the humble and caring anchor that he is to his friends.

Clint doesn’t plan on making this easy for anyone as he snatches the bag from Bucky’s back and flings it away. “You’re not dying on my watch, you get that?” He wiggles an admonishing index at his friend. “You can try to play hero all you want, but I’m the one who’s gonna make sure it doesn’t go at your expense.” The look in his eyes suddenly tenderizes with worry. “You’re in no condition to go by yourself, and you’re not exactly hedging your debts by trying to play it safe. Stress equals seizures. Isn’t that enough proof to you or what?”

“So what are you suggesting then?” Bucky suddenly roars, causing them all to flinch. “That I take the safe seat in this like some freaking handicap and let everyone take the hit for me?”

“You know the way out, right?” Clint asks out of the blue. “ _Right_?” he prompts when Bucky only stares blankly at him. When he finally nods tentatively, Clint smiled to him and said, “You hand over that map. You give me the right coordinates, and I’ll go instead.”

That is out of the question Clint.

“No.” Bucky said briskly. He walks away from his friend in a way that denotes this conversation is over and that he wins.

Clint is not going to have it. He latches onto Bucky again and spins him around to face him. “I’m not going to lose you again.”

Edwin finally decides to take part in this. He wants to stop the argument before it escalates to something troublesome like a fist fight. “Alright,” he sighs. “Sam and I will go.”

The childhood friends swivel their heads so fast. “What?” They ask in unison.

Sam asks in bewilderment, “Yeah, what?”

Edwin looks at them uncomprehendingly inscrutable before flippantly scratching his nape. “You two are too overprotective of each other. I don’t think we’ll get anywhere with you being at each other's throats like that,” he said. “Sam kinda fucked up too, so he’s coming with.”

“No, Edwin.” Bucky disagrees. Edwin feels like he must rein in his anger to try to keep from punching some sense into the brunet. “I’m not an invalid. I can do this. I’m coming with too.”

Edwin looks at him amused. “And you honestly think Clint here is gonna let you have it your way?”

Bucky’s brows twitch at that.

“Don’t sweat it,” He chuckles. “Just hand over everything here. We can also do the job.”

 

Bucky sits very far from his childhood friend. He hates the blows of bad luck that keep on coming his way. He honestly thought he could pull this off so long as he took care of every little thing since his case is, again, different. He hates to be an extra weight, and he hates it most when his friend makes it look like he is.

A couple of hours go by in a flash, and no cars had made an appearance. They left their hopes on Edwin and Sam to find their way out.

 

********

 

For lunch, they eat some of the snacks they brought with them. Peter, Gamora, and Wanda complain about the food, the heat, and their luck.

“This was supposed to be a fun trip; now, we’re delayed in fucking nowhere for a whole day,” Peter huffs out frustratingly. He shuffles a few times on one of the front seats inside the van, obviously looking uncomfortable.

The rest, except Clint, agrees with him.

Bucky is sitting on the seat he called first dibs on, and he looks out of the window with a lost look.

“You’re still mad at me?”

Without looking around, Bucky knows that it’s his friend. He doesn’t answer him just to show how angry he is with him right now.

“Go ahead; I won’t stop you,” Clint offers. “I don’t feel guilty though. It’s my job to look after you. That ain’t gonna change, ever.”

How is that supposed to soothe his anger?

“You can sulk all you want, but when it’s all said and done you’re gonna realize I’m doing this for you.” He lifts off the seat. “Rest your eyes for now.”

Before he realizes it, his eyes slide closed on their own.

 

When he wakes up, he finds he’s the only one in the van. He quickly looks out of the window, finding everyone outside lying on the ground under the shadow of a giant tree. The scene warms him. He notices that Sam and Edwin aren’t there. That must mean they are either making their way to the town or they lost their way. Honestly, Bucky hates the latter and just hangs his hopes on the long roads.

They usher him to the food on the ground after he gets out. These idiots, if they keep eating like that, they won’t have any food left for dinner.

He asks once he reaches their nest, “Any word from Sam and Ed?”

“We’re still waiting,” Gamora informs, now choking on that trashy pot they’re smoking.

Serves her right.

Bucky checks his hand watch. It shows that it is five in the evening. “I’m going to look around for a bit,” he said. “If you need me just holler.”

That goes for his best friend Clint as well.

He takes a half-empty bottle and makes for the off-road. He skids through the tree lines and enjoys the shadow of the deciduous leaves keeping the sun’s heat away. The silence slowly creeps in, and he finds himself loving the sensation. The crickets are buzzing like the phone poles. Far off birds can be heard tweeting on the branches. This is nature. In fact –and this is just Bucky feeling suddenly nostalgic– this is what a nature maniac would choose over the temptations of life.

It urges him to explore more.

Very soon, he hears the faint burbling of water. He makes to its source only to find himself inching toward a flowing river. He is delighted because they can fill up water from here. He walks across the river bank with glowing eyes taking in the scenery in front of him. Before he knew it, he finds himself stripping off his clothes to walk into the water. He goes straight into a small, babbling brook that the faint cascades must have created through the years. It’s not deep. It reaches his waist when he bends his knees a little.

Perfect.

He can cool off from the radiant sun. He can listen to the ripple of the cascades and just enjoy his quality time with feather-like touches of water kneading his fair skin. He lifts handfuls of water to spill them on his chest.

When he finally comes out of the water, naked as the day he was born, he hears the dead twigs cracking. It immediately alerts him. He discards that piece of clothing in his hand and keeps a pair of careful eyes on the place. It might be some animal. If he stays still, it will go away. But the sounds come back again, more spoken now. Bucky’s heart starts picking up the pace. “Who’s there?”

Suddenly, someone tall marches out of the trees and into view.

It is a hiker. Bucky can tell by the baseball hat, the hiking backpack, the timberland boots, the khaki shorts, and the grey T.

The strange man doesn’t say anything. He only eyes Bucky’s naked body for a while. It doesn’t deter Bucky as he looks back. He stares more as those sharp, slightly wide, blue eyes of the man switch from Bucky’s face to his torso, and his legs. Soon a smirk twitches at the corner of his thin lips. Bucky takes this with little bewilderment; this man isn’t doing anything to hide that –Bucky isn’t quite sure how to call that expression, but he doesn’t like it.

A man he doesn’t know is looking at him like how a man looks at a woman.

Bucky is standing stark naked, dripping wet. He can almost feel shameless droplets slowly sliding down his waist and between his thighs. That isn’t a turn-on unless this man is playing for a different team. He finally realizes that they’ve been staring back at each other for a few good minutes now. He starts to squirm and feel a blush eventually invading his cheeks. He hates being in the spotlight, especially being stared at by a stranger so he looks away.

The other man finally makes a move, and Bucky is on guard again. The man removes the straps of his travel pack and flings it to the side as he approaches Bucky. The latter’s eyes tremble. He is not only naked but defenseless as well. If this stranger decided to hurt him in any way, there’d be no one to take him out of it by himself. He braces for it. If it comes down to that, he’ll go down fighting.

The man finally stops when he is standing only a feather-width away from Bucky. A haughty smirk is speaking volumes of his smug expression. It gives an impression that he’s won something that wasn’t necessarily worldly.

It still doesn’t deter Bucky as he hardens his glare.

The man scoffs. He averts his eyes and walks past him altogether. Bucky’s gaze follows the man. It’s unintentional, but it’s instinctual. He takes notice of the maroon and black sipper bottle that he’s trying to fill with water from the flowing cascades. Bucky uses the distraction to wear his jeans and the white T-shirt.

The T gets past his face when the other man finishes his task and lifts himself up. He meets Bucky’s stare again. The latter adjusts the shirt and ruffles his hair; his eyes on the other’s the entire time.

“Hiking?” Bucky asks. It doesn’t escape him how the blond man’s brows almost arch up at the sudden question.

“Trekking.” The man corrects. Just as Bucky guessed, his voice is deep and velvet around the edge.

“Solo?” That’s a rhetorical, and apparently, the man gets it as he doesn’t say anything about it. “Pretty impressive.” Bucky nods his understanding, now slipping his vans on. “Could be dangerous though.”

“Steve,” the other said while extending his hand for a handshake. “Name’s Steve Rogers.”

Bucky takes his hand, “Bucky.” He said, “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Steve’ lips twitch into a small smile. The smile has a hint of embarrassment into it, but Bucky assumes the man is coy now they’re bare of their names. “So, Bucky” The enunciated words are droned. “Any reason why you’re venturing out naked by yourself, or are you going to tell me you’re the son of nature?”

Bucky lets out a bubbly chuckle at the joke, but deciding he doesn’t wants this stranger knowing details regarding their circumstances, he looks for something neutral. “No,” he starts carefully. “I’m here with friends. We had a bit of a situation, but we’re trying to get into the swing of things.”

“Oh,” Steve hums a little absentmindedly which Bucky thinks is a bit impertinent. “But you guys are okay, right?” he asks, and it touches Bucky that he is at least pretending he cares. “I mean physically hurt, because I came across a couple yesterday. One of them was severely injured.”

“No, no we’re okay,” Bucky assures. “Nobody’s hurt.”

“That’s a relief then.” He sighs a little. “Well, I better take my leave now if I want to set up camp before nightfall.”

As Bucky watches the man tuck the bottle into the backpack, he contemplates whether he should invite him to stay with them since they’re spending the night in the open. But he decides against it because they already have enough on their plate. An unwelcomed guest is the last thing they needed.

The man slips into the straps of the pack and fixes the angle of his cap. He looks back at Bucky. “The nights are usually cold up here, so make sure you keep warm,” he said. “And try not to loiter around naked. You could get jumped outta nowhere.” He turns around to leave.

Bucky bites back his retort and only half smiles at the innuendo; suddenly, a scream tears between the tree lines and echoes like a dreary, horrifying cry. Bucky looks up and sees that Steve is also looking back at him with curious apprehension. It dawns on him that he recognizes the voice as Peter’s. He instantly shoots towards it, knowing the stranger is soon to be at his heel.

 

Bucky shoots through the tree boles, ignoring how the twigs and branches scrape his skin on his way. When he finally reaches the clearing where his pals are located, the scene immobilizes him to the spot. 

Peter is on the ground beside one of the van’s wheels, wheezing in pain. The rest are scattering around him. They are undecided on what to do because, horror of horrors, Peter was shot in his chest with a freaking arrow. Bucky moves a little and he barely manages a full stride when Steve scurries past him, taking off his bag, and dashing to Peter’s side. Bucky finally gets his feet under his control again, so he follows Steve.

“I need some space here!” Steve demands. “Bucky, can you hand me the first aid kit inside my bag?”

Bucky obeys the order and darts to the bag. He opens it haphazardly, rummaging inside of it with two shaky hands. Clint comes up to him, face smeared with sweat and dirt. “It came outta nowhere, Buck. Where were you? You’d have been hurt!”

Bucky gets to his feet once he finds the box. “Not now,” he said as he hurries back to Steve’s side with the emergency kit. “We need to get that arrow out of his chest.”

“I don’t need you to tell me my job.” Steve bites out. One hand is pressing around the arrow while the other is trying to open the box.

Bucky eyes this very attentively. He looks at Clint, Natasha hugging Gamora, and Wanda whom are all staring down at them with eyes expectant and fearful. He looks back at Steve, and ignores how funny he sounds when he orders Peter, who is in so much pain, to shut the hell up. He sets his mind. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Help me get him inside the van,” Steve said hurriedly. “Whoever shot him could still be out there.” He adds, “Better safe than sorry, right?”

Bucky nods and gets up to help ship Peter into the van. They ignore when he cries out in pain as they place him in the backseat of the vehicle. The rest get in too. Bucky immediately looks around for water bottles and something to use as a pillow. He balls their scattered clothes and puts them underneath Peter’s head.

“Alright,” Steve sighs, looking up from his crouch to Bucky. “I need you to hold him down for me. I’m about to remove the arrow. This wound needs stitches, or else it’s gonna continue to bleed out.”

Bucky shares a vehement nod with him, and he places his two hands on Peter’s shoulders. “Go.”

Without wasting a second, Steve immobilizes the injured by a hand and pull out the arrow by the other. Peter continues to cry out and squirm, causing Gamora to cry as well. “Are you holding him tight?” He shouts at Bucky, “I can see him still moving you know!”

Bucky places all his strength in pushing the injured down, stopping him from moving. He wishes Peter’s pain could end already. Steve finally pulls out the arrow. Peter hollers with a pained whimper and collapses soon after. It’s still too early to celebrate. The wound on his chest is bleeding profusely even. Now with dim lights, Steve can barely do anything to stop the bleeding.

“Does anyone have a lighter?” He asks. His hands are busy pulling out a syringe and a small liquid bottle of anesthetic Bucky guesses. “I need a lighter.”

Bucky fumbles with the items around him. “Some of you guys smoke, right?”

Aside from Clint and Bucky, the entire crew smokes (Clint only occasionally). But only when it’s needed, they can’t find their lighters?

Clint gets his meaning as he starts looking frantically around. He squeaks when he finds one in the glove compartment. He tosses it to Bucky who catches it with remarkable accuracy. Steve tells him to open the needle box and sterilize one with the fire. Bucky does as ordered. Steve pierces Peter’s chest with the medical needle to pump him full of the good stuff. Hopefully, he won’t feel anything during this excruciating process.

“His internal organs don’t seem wounded. Good…good.” Steve almost collapses with relief. “He has a couple of cracked ribs though, but nothing life-threatening. Don’t worry.” He said. Now taking the needle and the threading roller from Bucky, he pushes the thread into the eye of the needle and starts stitching up the wound.

 

********

 

All the commotion dies just like the faintest rays of the sun sinking beyond the horizon. Bucky feels punched with a sudden lack of adrenaline drive. He grabs a bottle of water and goes back to his seat to relax. From his place, he can see Steve take out a cardigan from his bag, and spread it over Peter. He watches as he gives orders to Wanda and Gamora to keep cooling his forehead and his feet to keep his fever down. He stands up, and his eyes lock with Bucky’s.

He smiles triumphantly.

Why wouldn’t he? He’s just saved a life.

Steve picks up his supplies and hides them back in his bag. He puts the bag aside and walks to where Bucky is sitting. He flops on the seat next to him with a weary sigh.

He groans, “What a day, huh!”

“You saved a life, don’t whine now,” Bucky gripes, but it’s all playful.

Steve gets it, and he chuckles in response. “It’s always a good feeling when they live,” he said “But you helped out too, so thank you. I’m sorry I had to yell at you.”

“Just did what I was told,” Bucky admits humbly. “But if you don’t mind my asking, are you perhaps a doctor, because if you are, I really feel sorry for your underlings.”

“Med student,” Steve corrects with a smile, and tacks on “One more year to graduate.”

Bucky nods. “I’m sure you’re gonna ace it.”

Steve tries to engage in more conversation with him but Gamora speaks from where she’s seated, “Who do you think shot that arrow?”

“I couldn’t see,” Clint replies, and Natasha finished for him. “It’s good we took cover behind the van though. He could have shot us too.”

“You guys didn’t see their faces?” Steve asks as his voice grows deeper.

Gamora seizes the chance to be in their center of attention as she scurries to the seat next to those two. “It was really fast. We were all talking, you know, hanging out. Peter told us he wanted to take a piss. Then we heard his body slam to the ground, and that’s when we saw the arrow sticking out of his chest.”

“But whoever shot him, he was wearing beige and light brown garments,” Wanda prompts. “He quickly ducked after shooting the first arrow.”

Bucky quickly looks through the rear windshield window and sees the outline of the massive sedimentary rocks. If he still remembers correctly, it’s the same color, beige and light brown.

So that means…

“Camouflage,” he mumbles.

Because it was silent while he was thinking, he didn’t even notice that they all hear it.

“What? What did you say?” Gamora prompts.

“What was that?” Wanda curiously asks.

Bucky looks up abruptly, vaguely admits he doesn’t mind sharing his conclusions with them since they look interested enough to listen to him. “The sedimentary rocks have a very distinct trait. Their color is more like sandstone.” When they all just stare perplexedly at him, he adds, “If what you’re saying is true and if my conclusion is right, it must mean he’s been tracking us down this whole time.”

“Come again?” Clint scoffs.

“Think about it,” Bucky gushes on. “The freaking heat didn't cause the punctured tire. Let’s suppose it did, how do you explain that hole in the side of the tire? It’s supposed to deflate not puncture.” He takes a deep breath, and resumes, “The sandstone color is the same color that culprit was wearing; beige and light brown. It’s called camouflage. Maybe he was the one who shot the tire to render the van useless, and now he’s decided to hurt us?”

Gamora snorts, and soon bursts out laughing. Wanda soon follows suit.

“That happens in movies only Bucky!” Gamora said. “There’s no killer whatsoever.”

Clint is too offended by their reaction to have a comeback to that. Bucky only shakes his head dejected.

“Then,” Steve starts, looking up at them with sapphire-blue pupils darker than the night sky. “How would you explain that?” He gestures towards Peter lying pale on the ground. The snickering becomes fainter until they all stop. Their eyes examine the barely alive body. “The fact that somebody shot him still poses questions.” He continues, “Maybe, Bucky’s explanation sounds a little off, but it should not be taken lightly. You guys might have been followed and ambushed.” He turns to face Bucky. “Remember about the couple I told you earlier?”

Bucky nods fervently.

“The husband was severely injured. The wife kept telling him that she saw someone that caused their car to crash. She said they were lucky I was passing by because I helped them out with the injuries her husband sustained,” he sighs. “Maybe this could be related.”

“Did you report this to the rangers?” Bucky asks. His brows twitch when his eyes fall directly on Steve’s. He’s not used to sitting so close to someone, let alone staring right into their eyes. This is so out of his comfort-zone.

“I tried.” Steve shakes his head in a sorry manner. “But the signal is too weak up here, and I didn’t bring my walkie-talkie with me.”

“But you didn’t get in any sort of problem, right? Like anything similar to this at all?” Bucky asks, bewildered.

Steve shakes his head again. They resign with slumped shoulders. Then he said, “But”–they look up at him again–“I do remember coming across something strange.”

“Strange?” Bucky repeats. “How strange?”

“Random hunting.” he said. He makes sure he has their attention before he said, “I came across a few carcasses of dead animals. It wasn’t one or two. I mean, the woods were filled with them. This area is pretty famous for hosting the largest number of foxes, but that doesn’t mean they go on random hunts. It made me quite suspicious.”

“It’d be wild boars,” Natasha comments. “They’re known to grow into the size of a tree.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, this was more”–his brows furrow–“this was more brutal.”

  
They all fall into a gloomy silence. They try to come up with scenarios and fabricate their reality in their heads. Before they even know it, an entire hour goes by in a flash. Steve has already introduced himself and got their names. He excuses himself to check on his patient. Gamora sticks to his side to help. Bucky looks away from them to look out the window.

When is Edwin going to get them out of this?

  
“Buck?”

He turns to face his friend Clint, who is sitting next to him. Clint doesn’t smile like he usually does when he tries to buy his way to Bucky’s good graces.

“It must have been hard on you,” he sighs.

“It was hard on all of us,” Bucky tells him.

“Right.” He nods. “I know, but, well, you know…”

See? This is exactly why he can’t stand him anymore.

“Because I’m sick?” he urges. “Because I break easily?”

Their commotion garners unwanted attention as everyone listens to what they’re saying.

“That’s not what I meant. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Clint tilts his head in an attempt to mollify his friend’s anger.

“Just…” He lifts his hand. “Just stop, okay? I don’t think I have the heart to hear it, whatever it is you want to say. I’m tired. I want to lie down, so if you don’t mind–” He ushers his friend to the seat away from him.

The other sighs. “What about your shot?”

“I’m not disabled. I can do it myself, thank you very much.”

Clint looks hurt. He lingers long enough for Bucky to take his words back, but he doesn’t. Clint leaves him alone.

Steve watches as Bucky rummages inside some bag. He watches as he takes a syringe and a little bottle, and hides them in his pocket. He gets up to his feet to tell them that nature is calling. They insist that he stays inside and holds it in.

Gamora stands by the door to stop him. “If we open this door, the killer could get inside. He could still be out there.”

Bucky gives her a proud smirk. “I thought there’s no killer whatsoever.”

“Don’t be a wise ass now Bucky.” Wanda approaches him from behind. “Just hold it in until we get out of here.”

Bucky presses his lips momentarily in exasperation. “Out of my way,” he orders Wanda as he pushes her gently to the side when she refuses to budge. Wanda grabs Bucky by the shoulders and turns him around only to slam him against the door. “I don’t care if your bladder bursts, you’re not opening this door. You get that?”

The reason why Bucky wants to get out is not to pee by the back tire or get some fresh air; he needs to get out because he’s feeling nauseated and dizzy. He must get it out of his stomach if he wants to feel relief again. “Move.”

Wanda watches as Bucky’s face pales, but that doesn’t stop her from immobilizing him as he fights and struggles in her hold. Wanda finds no other option but to slap him so he can calm down. The rest are making a total commotion. When she lifts her palmed-out hand, Steve grabs it.

“What’re you doing?” Wanda said in reproach.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Steve tightens his grip and ushers to Bucky with his head. “Seriously, you really want to have a go at him? Can’t you see he’s feeling sick?”

Bucky pulls away from them and staggers to the driver’s seat, leaning on the steering wheel heavily. When Steve and Clint attempt to come closer, Bucky amazes himself when he shouts at them both. “Just, stay away from me for now, please.”

They watch as he takes out the syringe, and fills it with whatever substance is inside the bottle. He gives himself a shot through the side of his upper arm. He leans back on the headrest, sighing very tiredly.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the only long chapter in this story, so bear with me.  
> WARNING: Graphic depictions of a seizure (towards the ending of the chapter).

 

 

It’s been a few hours since the chaos subsided, and everyone slid into their own thoughts. The sky has gotten quite dark, and Peter is still sleeping the pain off.

Steve is currently supervising his patient’s condition, Gamora is hovering by his side, Natasha and Clint are snuggling in her seat, and Wanda is on the floor sky-gazing through the window on the side. Bucky, however, is still sitting in the driver’s seat, trying to figure out how to get them out of this mess. He’s hoping that whoever shot Peter has at least a little consideration, and that’s a stupid thing to hope for since the perpetrator shot a young man in cold blood. But he will keep the hope because getting attacked in the middle of the night when they’re fresh out of ideas would be a cruel fate. He glances over his shoulders and takes in the scene of everyone praying that the night would end quickly so they don’t end up like Peter: miserable and in pain. There was one time when Steve said that his patient was not in pain, that it was just the fever and it might be a sign of an infection starting to spread out, so they needed to be careful. If Sam and Edwin don’t get into town by today, they’re all ruined. There won’t be anyone to get them out of this, and that’s a thought Bucky doesn’t want to consider yet. Judging by their reaction to Peter getting shot by an arrow, he knows they wouldn’t stand a chance out in the open for more than a couple of days. He only gives it two days because Peter has already proved to be a liability.

Christ, what was he thinking? Peter isn’t a liability, he’s a person.

He is a person who proved to be quite the dick-bag in more than an occasion, but he’s still a person. Now he’s shot and is obviously in a lot of pain, and it’s natural to feel for him.

 

Bucky’s hungry.

He’s starting to feel the grumbling of his stomach growing louder the longer it goes unattended to. There’s very little food left, and he isn’t about to bum a slime-bag attitude off them by bringing up his medical condition. He’s already taken his shot and sleeping without food for one night isn’t going to kill anyone.

 

And just like that, the night morphs into the morning.

They wake up at the sound of Peter coughing. Bucky peeks from his place to see Steve lifting up from his seat and is soon at Peter’s side. He is bombarding him with questions and ghosting his hands over his chest to look for any other injuries. They all watch as their wounded friend looks at them through slanted eyes, looking grateful to be alive.

“Get me some water,” Steve orders fervently. “I have to wash around the wound and change his dressing, anyone?”

There are only a couple of bottles that contain water, and they are half empty too. It’s only a matter of time now until they all start feeling the lack of liquids and food taking its toll on them.

Steve takes the bottles offered from them and makes do with what they have. “I’m gonna have to clean around the wound at least twice a day. Do you honestly expect me to make do every single time?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Wanda reminds. “Anyone of us could get shot the moment they walk outta that door.”

Steve’s eyes look up, evidently furious. “He’s feverish and he’s in pain. He has to keep hydrated, and the painkiller doses aren’t really helping,” he bites out. “I need to keep this wound clean, or it might get infected. Unless you want your friend here to die because you’re scared of your own shadow, I suggest you let us out so we can at least get the job done.”

“Once you get out you’ve sentenced yourself to death,” Natasha said. “Now, I’m sorry about Peter, but let’s wait a little longer. Edwin and Sam must have reached the town by now.”

At this, Steve lets out a weary sigh and looks away from them, and that’s the moment his eyes lock with Bucky’s. The two of them share a thoughtful glance before Bucky lifts to his feet. “Alright, give me the empty bottles.”

Wanda curses under her breath before standing up. “Hey, Bucky.” she starts, and there’s clear exasperation in her voice. “Don’t think you can go about just because you have epilepsy." At this, Gamora starts pulling her from the elbow so she’d drop it. Apparently, it only fuels her anger as she wrenches her arm from the other’s hand. “I call the shots here. When I say no one gets out of the van, I mean no one, not even you.”

Bucky looks cynical; he feels cynical. He wants to laugh at the other’s face, ask her what’s so scary about death that has her biting her nails. It’s annoying, but he refrains and makes to fetch the bottles by himself instead.

When it dawns on Wanda that she’s just been ignored, a feeling of intense wrath vibrates through her, and she goes after him, intent on settling things with her own hands again. The rest is prompted, and they immediately lift up, waiting, but inwardly anticipating the outcome of Wanda’s sudden outburst. Only Clint and Steve leaped up alarmed, keeping their guards up so that even if Wanda decides to do something, they’d stop her.

“You think you’re better than us, is that it?” she taunts as Bucky collects the scattered empty bottles. “Well, you’re not getting any different treatment even if you’re handicapped, you hear me? If you open that door, I’m not letting you in again.”

Bucky huffs and wets his lips before turning around to face her. “Are you done?”

Wanda gets provoked, and Bucky is glaring head-on back at her. Natasha then pops up, trying to smooth things out between them before their conflict escalates, but Wanda is not taking her eyes off Bucky’s. Without any warnings, she throws a punch but Bucky throws the bottles at her, seizes the chance when Wanda dodges to give her a vigorous shove. However, it’s not strong enough to make the other tip over. When she recovers from the tumble that nearly had her taking a back dive on the seats, Wanda looks up looking like all hell broke loose, which, with all things considered, it really might have.

Top notch ‘oops’ right there, Bucky thinks bemused.

“You retarded asshole!” Wanda fumes, glancing over at the melee of her friends in the cramped van. “You think this is funny?”

“I don’t.” Bucky simply shrugs. “But I think you do.”

Wanda’s tendons jut out, and she bugs out her eyes at the other. “You want to die?” she dares. “Alright,” she says, now grabbing Bucky by the arm and ignoring how everyone is trying to talk her out of it because, basically, violence doesn't solve violence. But Wanda is adamant on settling the score with her hands, and she keeps on pulling the other like a sack of potatoes.

Finally, Bucky’s patience snaps. He grabs that hand on his forearm, turns it to spin Wanda around and then he pins her down on the seats next to them. He leans down over her back, “I think I’ve had it up to here with your scaredy-cat attitude,” he says atop her. “You’re starting to be annoying.”

“Lay off me, you retard!” Wanda twists and wriggles beneath him. “Okay, fine!” she hisses. “Get out, but don’t expect to come back in once you leave.”

Bucky shoves her a little just to make a point, and he finally lifts off to start collecting the scattered bottles. Wanda straightens up, now looking away from everyone’s appraising looks. Bucky opens the door and walks out after inspecting his surroundings. Then he makes his way back to the river he was at the day before. It’s quite bothersome how he had to choose between two difficult things. Holing up inside the van or going out to fetch water was like choosing between AIDS and Cancer. They both might end up with him dead. And the way Wanda is dealing would have been catastrophic if it wasn’t for some of them who are still able to see the bigger picture. Yes, their life could be in danger, but how are they supposed to survive if they never get out of the van? It’s not Wanda’s fault that she’s scared. It’s only natural not to want to die, especially not in the middle of nowhere in the outskirts of no-name town. Bucky hogs the blame. Even if something were to happen to him while he fills up the bottles for everyone else, it would still be on him. However, when he comes back, he finds his friend Clint and Steve standing outside the van, their eyes on the mountains surrounding them. They straighten up when he clears his throat.

“What’re you guys doing outside?” he asks with a raspy, yet somehow husky voice, now knocking on the door of the van.

Steve was crouched beside a tire and has now leveled up to his feet. He hides his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I’m not their pal,” he says. “They can’t lock me up if I don’t want it.”

Bucky tries to read that scowl over the other’s face, but, well, whatever.

Clint then approaches them. “Actually,” he drones. “He threatened Wanda that if she doesn’t allow you back in he wouldn’t supervise Peter’s condition.” He glances over at Steve between the words. “And there’s no way I’m leaving you to stay out while I hole up back inside.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Bucky sighs. “It’s dangerous out here,” he hints this to Steve. “If you really care about your patient then you should stay inside the van. You won’t be any help if you’re shot too.”

“Bucky.” A look of concern furrows Clint’s brows. “He just wanted to help.”

Steve lifts conciliating hands. “It’s alright,” he tells him. “He is right.” He lets out a small sigh. “But Bucky,” –He looks back into the other’s eyes– “They were already preventing us from getting water, and that’s basically not letting me do my job, so Peter’s case is a bummer either way.”

Bucky snakes his tongue out just a tiny bit, suppressing his anger towards everyone inside the van. Speaking of which, why aren’t they opening the door? He gives it a few more raps that rattle its structure. “Wanda!” He pounds the door now. “Open up!”

Judging by the silence that follows, the trio outside guesses that Wanda must have given her friends instructions not to open the door for the suicidal ones. Bucky concludes that if Wanda is so adamant on leaving them outside, then damn straight she will. He just sighs with evident frustration and throws a few bottles through the window. He keeps a few for them since it’s scorching hot outside. They take seats between two large trunks of two large trees, and they watch the world as the crickets’ buzzing grows louder. Stray birds fly randomly above.

“So long as we keep cover,” Clint starts. “He won’t hurt us.”

Bucky looks up with little annoyance. It’s sweltering hot, he’s sweating, and he’s hungry. They all are. Excuse him if taking it out on Clint is what he resorts to next. “Sure hope so, but Clint,” he starts. “If the asshole was able to shoot Peter from a 500 meters’ distance with a freaking arrow, then he can shoot about anyone because he’s a pro.”

“But if we take cover,” Clint instigates but doesn’t add anything else because it’s already clear.

“He doesn’t look like he has problems with angles either.” The brunet looks ahead now, narrowing his eyes against the sun’s harsh glare. “He’d have already killed us if he really wanted us dead.”

“Now, that’s a scary thing to say,” Steve scoffs. “And I’m still trying to tell myself that it was a reckless shooting. Someone was probably stalking deer or shooting birds. Peter was just unlucky,” he says. “I did find animal carcasses scattered inside the woods, so maybe they were hunters?”

“It still doesn’t add up.” Clint shrugs. “But, whatever,” he groans. “I just hope Edwin and Sam are fine and already in that town. I’m  _so_ at the end of my rope you don’t even know.”

“So you guys already sent for help.” Steve nods. “Then that’s a huge relief. I hope they're on their way now; I certainly don’t want this nomadic lifestyle for myself anymore.”

Bucky isn’t that optimistic though.

His friend and Steve chat more about the hiking and concert, which was the reason all this happened. Bucky leans back on the tree trunk, closing his eyes to nap. He hears Steve ask his friend about him, about his medical condition, and if there’s something they should worry about. Bucky, knowing that Clint tends to spill things once he feels comfortable with someone, cuts him off. "It's nothing you should worry about. And that's it."

 

The afternoon finds them hungry and sweating their balls of.

Bucky decides to go full-on caveman mode since Wanda is keeping the van on lockdown. He breaks some branches and throws them to the ground. Before telling them what to do with them, he takes out his keychain that has a folding knife attached to it and asks “What do you guys think about spearfishing?” He sneers at them as they gawk in return. “I’m hungry, and I bet everyone is.” He says, now taking one of the branches and using his folding knife to graze it at the head. “I’m not quite sure it’s going to come out good but DIY spears aren’t an everyday activity back at home, and the head of the arrow that bastard shot at Peter could be a lot of help. I don’t suppose Wanda is going to let us go in and get it, so let’s do our best.” With that, he focuses back on his piece of wood and tries to craft it in a way that can make the spear work.

Steve and Clint exchange an amused look before smiling at Bucky’s sudden ‘look at the bright side’ attitude. Clint fumbles with his clothes and comes out with a metal nail clipper hooked to his keys. Steve does the same and comes out with his dog tag. They try to make do with those.

Then Bucky tears off the hem of his shirt, and uses it to wrap the blade on the head of the makeshift spear. He looks quite proud of his little achievement and quickly lifts off to his feet. “Alright,” he gushes. “But you guys know we’re fishing, so it’s best if you cut the head of the spear into three sharp parts.”

“And what about the one you made?” Steve asks, bemused.

“This.” He examines his handiwork. “This is a hunting spear.” He looks at them now. “Let’s hope there are rabbits out there,” he sighs. He adds on a mumble, “I wanna eat roasted rabbit for dinner.”

Despite their fears of getting attacked and shot at any second, they decide death is just a milestone in your road. Although it should be the last one after you’ve lived and had all the fun you could get, but that's a luxury they don’t currently have. They head to the river and try to catch fish because it turns out Steve is quite a humdinger comedian. Bucky is having the fun of his life as Steve and Clint get at argue about how to fish. The latter doesn’t want to get soaked, so he stays by the bank, trying to catch sight of any rabbits though he knows they don’t get attracted to the ruckus, and nor does the fish.

“Guys,” he breathes out heavily. “If you keep playing around you’re not going to get anything done. Now quit splashing the water everywhere, you’re only disturbing the fish like that.”

Steve smiles thinly at Clint who shrugs in a gesture that suggests they heed his orders before he flips. Bucky tells them he must go in deeper into the woods. Even with the other two reprimanding and warning, he tells them he’ll be careful, and he will try not to stray further from them.

Clint’s come a long way in the past two nights alone, giving him a breather and letting him handle things on his own and not treating him with kid gloves anymore. Though his worried gaze keeps following Bucky in an almost nagging way, he at least admires his courage, so that’s something.

 

He’s trudging through the grove of trees, eyes full of caution and his grip cramping on the handmade spear. He hears a few dry twigs get crunched here and there with some distant rustling. After inspecting around like a compass, he rules it’s some animal that is also fed up with summer heat. So instead of walking the opposite direction, he walks right to the source of the noises. His face lightens up when he sees a single wild rabbit hopping around astray. Bucky lifts his spear and gets ready to shoot it, but another twig breaks somewhere and the rabbit perks up and flees away altogether. Bucky races after it, not caring about stealth and smoothness anymore. The rabbit takes a turn into the bushes, and Bucky still follows it after jumping over the shrubs like a mountain goat and piercing the air with his spear, not caring where it landed.

When he recovers from the fall, he pauses, sitting completely still. Just beyond the bushes, there’s a small clearing. At the very far corner of the clearing, a man in beige and brown clothes is dragging a body. Bucky’s heart almost rises to his mouth because, after another searching glance, he can tell the body that’s covered in blood and leaves is Sam, looking dead. He feels sudden anger almost blind him on the spot. His hands start ghosting over the ground, probing for his pocket knife. He will kill that son of a bitch. He will end their nightmare now and today. He will take Sam back to his family, and pour his heart in a heartbreaking obituary.

Another man comes out between the trees and helps drag the body, Bucky’s hopes shatter to pieces as he watches with awe and dread.

There’s too much blood on Sam’s face. Bucky is sure that even if he’s alive and if he gets him out of there, Sam’s brain is going to sustain the most damage, and he might spend his life in a wheelchair. God damn, what is he thinking in a critical time like this! He must do something, he –and then Sam groans. The sound is curdling with blood down his throat. Bucky laughs and cries in a whisper, because that groan is a new light of hope that flickers for another chance. Bucky feels happy. Sam is alive, and that’s all that matters. But as Sam wakes up more, he starts lashing and trying to wiggle away from the hands lifting him from the wrists and ankles. The man who’s just joined the other pauses in his tracks, and Bucky’s gut lurches in instant horror. The man takes a machete out of the scabbard that’s wrapped around his middle– which Bucky thought was a poleax at first, and he lifts it over his head to stab Sam’s neck. Sam lifts his hands to protect his neck but they get gored instead, again and again. When the nightmare seems to finally end, Sam drops down, unmoving like a ragdoll.

“You didn’t have to chop his hands off, genius.” The man in the beige says, “Now we have to carry him, what a bummer.”

The other shrugs. “He was giving us trouble,” he says. “I hate trouble.”

When he got on the van a few days ago, he never even envisaged crouching with wobbly legs behind dust-smelling shrubs, and watching with trembling doe eyes as Sam, one of the passengers and Clint’s friend, gets slashed to death.

The uneven pattern of his shallow breaths drowns out the eerily normal silence of the woods as he watches how those men, undeterred by the unmoving body, lift Sam by the armpits and the knees, and skirt towards the trees, disappearing at last. Bucky looks around shaken and pale. The funny thing is he finds the wild rabbit poised next to his feet, dead.

When he walks back aimlessly, he starts thinking whether he should tell the others. Should he just come out and tell them how Sam got brutally amputated and mutilated, or should he keep quiet until their turn comes? How’s he supposed to tell them that they might end up like one of the animal carcasses Steve talked about? No, his friends are already dealing with lack of water and food. Their neurons are almost shooting through the sky. They will go hysterical if they find out about this. But they have a right to know as well, whether it scars them or it scares them. He doesn’t care as long as the messenger does his job. He’ll just tell them to gear up; they can beat those two other men if they unite. Strength in unity, right?

Bucky reaches the spot where he left Steve and Clint, and finds them relaxing by the bank with a heap of fish flopping on the dirt. They fished so many. Bucky wants to turn back rather than face them after what he’s just witnessed. He wants to keep running and running until he’s across the earth and doesn’t have to meet their reproaching eyes, their accusatory looks that will malign him. Why didn’t you save Sam? Why did you leave him behind and run?

Bucky looks down with a pained face.

He tries to even out his breathing, and calm his voice to keep from sobbing. He squares his shoulders and heads their way. They look up at him, and the first thing they see is the wild rabbit dangling down the spear.

“You actually caught one!” Clint bursts out laughing, bowing down to laugh some more. It makes Steve chuckle as well.

Looking at them now, Bucky knows he could never be able to say anything. He finds himself slowly dropping his gaze, and then looking away to give a half-smile.

But apparently, Steve picks up on it. “Hey,” he starts, tilting his head to get a glimpse of the other’s face that is being obscured by his fringes. “You look a little pale, are you okay?”

That’s when Clint studies his friend, and he asks the same question. Bucky shakes his head in a half-hearted manner and tells them it was just the rabbit’s fault for making him break a sweat.

“So I suppose you didn’t clean the fish?” he asks, throwing the others off his rail. “You guys know that we need to scale, skin, and gut the fish before we eat it, right?” They only stare innocently at him, so he sighs and puts the rabbit with the spear onto the ground. “You’re not getting off this nasty work,” he tells them. “Come on. Give me a hand if you want to eat.”

After he shows them the ropes, he volunteers to skin the rabbit –the nastier job. The blood that soon pumps from the neck wound of the rabbit takes Bucky back to the clearing, and to Sam’s hands that got gored like a piece of log getting axed. He suddenly feels the bile rising and the color drain from his face. He staggers away from the mess, lifting a hand to hide his mouth if something did come out, but the damn blood and hair on his hands from slicing the rabbit’s neck open force the meager contents of his stomach out.

Clint is soon by his side, rubbing his back in circles as Bucky heaves beside a tree, retching with visible force even though there’s nothing left in his stomach to throw up. He takes the bottle from him and waves his heavy nausea off as being tired from skidding through the woods, but his breathy voice leaves them with little suspicion. The last thing Bucky wants is to come across as weak, or worse, fragile. He tells his friend to stop hovering. Although Bucky sees the hint of hurt at his gentle treatment being rejected harshly, Bucky doesn’t do anything to right things between them. He knows Clint’s always ready for Bucky to worry him. He doesn’t want to worry him, would rather not. It’s about damn time Clint stops taking care of him and starts looking after himself a little. Whatever, Bucky needs  **–** he  _has_  a lot to do. His list is growing more prominent but they’re short on time.

 

They all finish and Steve sounds quite proud of his and Clint’s work so far. For now, they should head back and share the food with everyone. Because he still had to put the fish in hand-made skewers, Bucky was grateful that Steve knew how to build a campfire hence saving him the trouble of having to do it himself. The ones in the van start peering out of the windows. They’re lured by the smell of fish fillets cooked over a decent-looking campfire. He tries to rope them in by telling them to join in, grab a bite. But Wanda pushes Natasha off the windows, and it saddens Bucky. Whatever, Wanda will taste the other’s wrath eventually because a bossed-around Natasha is probably more dangerous than the psycho culprits. And it dawns on him that it’s a damn poor choice of words.

Not even five minutes go by when the door of the van gets pushed open and Gamora and Natasha come out running. For a start, they might have come running so that even if someone were to shoot an arrow at their direction, they’d fail. Nobody can get a clear shot on moving objects. And to finish, they were probably tired of Wanda’s hard streak of false vanity because they’ve just crushed her ego by choosing food over her words of safety and assurance inside the van.

Bucky is frantically delighted. He can do without the self-flagellation, and just enjoy the company if it lasts. He doesn’t know what will happen after today, or if they are even going to live through the night to see another day. If they’re together, giving each other sanctuary from the predators that come in the form of cold-blooded killers, who are waiting for the perfect chance to make them join Sam, it will make the nightmare a little easier to go through, hopefully. Everyone is eating and commenting on how they’d gobble down their mothers’ food once they’re saved because Sam and Edwin have probably made it to the town. Bucky suddenly pauses. Should he tell them now? Would it be wise to strip them away from their only hope by dropping the bomb? Just what is he supposed to do?

“… Buck? Bucky?” Clint is the one calling him out. When he glances up at him, Clint wants to know why he stopped eating altogether.

He looks around at every one of them. The nightmarish words on the tip of his tongue, and it hurts to see them look so expectant. Bucky looks at the food again and decides to take some for Peter. “He needs some food in him too.” The others agree but can’t quite be sure that that is all he wanted to say, but not that it matters. The food smells good.

When Wanda finally accepts to open the door for him so he could give food to Peter, Bucky walks into the van and crouches beside the injured one, waking him up gently. He helps him eat, and although Peter is taking his sweet time chewing the food, Bucky tolerates it because he’s already had his share. It wouldn’t hurt to help someone who can’t even sit upright just yet seeing how his chest is still swathed with bandages. Besides, being able to help someone rather than getting helped feels really good, like, for once, he is being productive.. He looks over at Wanda who is perched by the door, peering at her friends joined in one circle, stuffing their stomachs and squabbling over freshwater. Bucky can’t stand it anymore.

“Trying to stay alive is a priority, Wanda,” he starts. “But in times like these it’s best if you try to have fun with your friends.”

The other’s eyes look back at him, and she leans back on the headrest of the seat behind. “Fun?” she echoes, trepidation and derision both twanging in her tone. “There’s a psycho out there who’s trying to kill us in case you didn’t notice.”

Bucky sighs. “I know,” he said. “I’m aware of that.”

“And your great plan is to have fun?” she scoffs again, a little enraged.

“Or you can mope here by yourself, see if anyone gives a damn,” Bucky shrugs, “personally, I don’t.” At this, he helps Peter to another bite. “Maybe we  _are_ going to die, but I certainly wouldn’t spend my last breath in a van, waiting for someone to come and rescue me. And before you get all huffy and puffy on me, I want you to know that spit-roasted rabbit and grilled fish could be our last meal. So Wanda” –he looks away from Peter as well because the threatening tears fall– “get rid of that hard streak you have. Go out there, talk to your friends.”

He hears the other swearing under her breath after a few long seconds spent in complete silence. The door rattles open, and Wanda finally leaves. Bucky’s eyes roam about the van’s interior a little aimlessly before looking back at Peter.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says softly, his voice merely a rasp. Bucky shushes him, tells him to save his energy. Peter shakes off the other’s hands and repeats his apology with tears streaming down his eyes this time. “I’m sorry for making fun of you the other day,” he says. “I wish your heart weren’t this big, I wish you punched me the minute I blurted it out.” He breaks into a sob and Bucky begs him to “just… stop, please.” He probably had a point because Peter’s sobs turn into a sudden fit of coughing so Bucky finds himself obliged to look around for a water bottle.

He searches around fervently, and he finds one by Steve’s bag. He goes to fetch it but his fingers pull on the straps as well, and the bag tilts over and falls. Bucky returns to the emergency at hand, lifting the other a little up to help him drink. Peter finally relaxes and falls back to sleep. Bucky collapses on his haunches, relieved that he was quick or the other could have choked on his saliva. He makes to rub his nape, and that’s when he sees it, the lopsided bag, showing some of its contents. He crawls towards it, keeping an eye on the door from time to time. And that’s when he finds a digital object that looks somewhere between a two-way radio and a MURS. Bucky’s heart gives an abrupt jolt, and the hair on his neck bristles.

“What’re you doing?”

He spins his head around, finding Steve by the door. “Uh,” he gives a nervous cough. “Peter was feeling a lot of pain, didn’t know what to give him and he sort of passed out.” He hopes Steve doesn’t pick on the fact that he was snooping, and he just got caught.

Steve eyes the wheezing man with a frown, taking in the beaded sweat on his forehead that signifies that he is indeed in pain. “He shouldn’t be in so much pain,” he says, now approaching the two. “His vitals weren’t even hit.”

“Just a guess,” Bucky starts, “but cracked ribs must be a bitch.”

Steve rolls his eyes and squats beside Bucky. “You can leave it to me now,” he says. “Thank you for looking after him.”

“No problem,” Bucky shrugs, now levering up to his feet and slowly backing away from the two. He hears the scuffle of feet and Clint is soon barging in, panting. “Guys,” he clears his throat after swallowing hastily, “little help here?”

Bucky looks from the door back to Steve, who is already looking up at him with an arched brow. They both dart towards the door and go outside, finding Wanda and Gamora yelling at each other.

“What the hell, a girls’ fight?” Bucky says half-heartedly.

The way Steve’s shoulders stiffen at the scene raises Bucky’s alarms. He takes in the deepening divots in his cheeks and the dark glimmer in his eyes, signifying the man’s worry; a worry for something that isn’t the fight or the girls. But when he goes to ask, the man faces away, not willing to talk.

 It stops at that as Gamora gives her friend a slap across the face, Bucky ignores Steve and dashes to stop them. He hears Wanda calling bull because she’s being accused unjustly of stealing the other’s music player. She lifts a fisted hand to give a hook, but Bucky throws himself in between them and he gets smacked instead.

“What are you two doing?”

Wanda points a hand at Gamora. “She’s throwing accusations at me without any proof.”

“The fact that Steve saw you is enough of a proof!” she bellows. “You bitch!”

“He’s lying!” Wanda grinds out, “I didn’t steal anything!”

Gamora gives a panic-stricken laugh. “You lying bitch!” she grouses, now making to hit her with one of the campfire poles, but Steve stops the movement midair. “You two need to calm down,” he says, “or you might hurt someone.”

Gamora grits her teeth as her eyes flash a glare at the taller male, and she gives his hand a hefty shove before heading to the van. When they ask where she is going, she hollers, “Going back home!”

Bucky fears her actions in a moment of anger, so he follows her. Just when his hand is almost at Gamora’s arm, she slips into the van and closes the door. The engine revs and sputters a cough before finally coming to life with a rumble, headlights beaming. She ignores how they’re telling her to stop because the vehicle isn’t functioning, and it might overturn because of the ‘deflated’ tire. She stomps on the accelerator. The van moves and proceeds down the dirt road.

Bucky races closely behind, waving his hands at the view rear mirror as if he’s bringing an F6 jet in for landing on a carrier. He doesn’t notice Steve rushing after him until after he pulls him harshly by the elbow. The two of them fall to the ground with Bucky straddling the other.

In an expected beat, a blinding light like a sunbeam flashes, followed by a reverberating muffled rumble that sends the blasted debris upward. Soon it graduates to a massive fire eruption, sending a shockwave that blows away whatsoever is unfortunate enough to get in its path. Bucky’s hair, along with his torn shirt, ruffle at the impact of the powerful wind. He feels Steve wrapping an arm around his back and the other around his head, bringing him closer to shelter him. Bit by bit, the sound of the explosion gets ebbed to cracking and popping.

When Bucky looks up from Steve’s shoulder, he finds Clint groaning. The campfire is scattered on the ground, and the rest of the group is skulking towards the safety by the trees. Bucky and Steve finally sit up, and the harrowing scene of the van being eaten by fire and smoke makes Bucky freeze on the spot.

“…leave…”

He hears the other man’s muffled voice and can feel him hoisting him up.

“...might be… killed… we need to….”

Bucky doesn’t care.

Peter and Gamora were both in that van when it got blown up, and Bucky can’t even think of a worse ending than that.

A loud guttural scream is what finally takes him out of it as Natasha comes closer to them teetering with shock and hopelessness. “No!” She cries out, the tears getting smeared with smoke over her cheeks. “Gamora! Oh my God! No!!”

Clint lifts up like a hypnotized zombie with no purpose in life. He wobbles his way towards her like she’s his buoy, and takes her in a hug as the latter sobs her heart out.

“Why!” She whimpers, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this! Oh God why!”

Clint hugs her tighter. Just hearing those pained cries makes Bucky’s heart break and without even realizing it, he finds himself shedding tears as well.

 “Guys,” Steve steers their attention to him now. “They could still be out there, let’s get out of here!”

Bucky nods; they needed someone to be the voice of reason, Steve is volunteering to be. They make their way to Wanda and he tells them to buckle up because they’re making a run for it. Wanda shakes her head, pale and shocked. “This is the safest place to be at right now,” she mumbles, now wrapping her arms around herself. “Whoever blew up the van can’t get to us as long as we take cover here.”

“Wanda!” Steve bawls, grabbing her by her forearm and giving her a firm shake. “You’re not getting cold feet now of all times!”

Natasha jumps into the other’s personal space. “Leave her alone.”

“Seriously?” Steve’s scoff is a little exasperated. “Are we seriously going to do this?”

Wanda wilts to the background as the other two glare each other.

“This is not the time for this,” Bucky seethes, stomping closer to the duo in high dudgeon. “We’re in this together; being at each other’s throats now is pretty inconvenient and unproductive. Don't you think?”

Just as Natasha starts to look away and contemplate Bucky’s words of unity, they hear Steve's shriek followed by the muffled thud of a body hitting the ground. Everyone ducks and attentively eyes their surroundings with bated breath. Bucky dives to his knees to assess their predicament, kneeling beside Steve who is gasping now and cradling his upper-arm. He tries to inspect the wound, but Steve’s hand doesn’t allow it.

“Steve,” he snarls, “you have to let me see.”

They both know that once Steve removes his hand, the blood is going to ooze out. The only supplies that could stop the bleeding were in the van and the van is out of commission now. But they can always make do. Bucky is going to make sure of it. Slowly, Steve lifts his hand off showing a nasty puncture wound around the bicep. Bucky finds himself panting so fast. A full-fledged hyperventilation promising a sudden lambasting from Clint about his lack of self-care, and he is so not ready for that.

“Steve, it’s a–” he wipes his face with a sweaty and shaky hand. “It’s a gunshot wound.” And he’s not sure whether Steve pales at the news or the resultant blood loss. He faces the others. “Would it be insensible of me if I sent you guys first?”

Clint scoots closer. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Bucky doesn’t want him to either, but it’s probably safer for everyone if they don’t herd to the same spot and attract unnecessary attention that is bound to get them all killed.

“I have to take the bullet out,” he says over his shoulder as he takes out his folding knife from his back pocket. “We might get attacked while you’re all waiting, so better safe than sorry,” he says. “Go before us. At least you get to have a head start; we’ll be following very soon.”

Steve looks at him with something akin to bewilderment. “You should leave too,” he tells him. “I don’t want to hold you back.”

Bucky is a little lost as he keeps on taking in the glint in the other’s eyes. Soon he figures they’re tears of pain that have welled up, and that decides for him. “Nat,” he finally looks away. “Give me your lighter and then lead the rest into the woods. Try to be as stealthy as possible.”

Natasha heeds his order and gives him her disposable lighter. After sharing one last glance, Clint pulls Wanda and Natasha and starts shoving them ahead, because for some reason, their eyes can’t leave Bucky’s. He mouths ‘we’ll meet soon’ to them with a reassuring smile.

He watches as they disappear between the grove of trees, and then he picks up his pocket knife again, before flicking the spark wheel once, twice; nothing. His sweaty hands aren’t exactly helping, and he curses every single time.

Steve snatches the lighter from him and flicks the spark wheel instead with such resolution that brings the flame to life. Bucky doesn’t even feel grateful for that. He floats the knife within the flame and then looks up at Steve. “Sit tight and enjoy the ride.”

Steve’s smirk is grimaced.

Bucky inserts the crown of the knife into the wound, and Steve stirs. Bucky ignores him all along because trying to keep the pain to a bare minimum isn’t on his bucket list for now. He prods deeper and finally meets the lead. He can hear Steve groaning. One fleeting glance at his face shows him the man squeezing his eyes shut. He eventually starts digging out the bullet, and Steve smothers an outright scream. When the bullet spurts out, Bucky scrutinizes it for any missing chunks. Thankfully, he finds none. He takes off his shirt and starts tearing it up. He leaves a part which he eventually wraps around the wound. “That ought to stop the bleeding, I’ll sew you up when we get out of here,” Bucky prompts. “Come on,” he strains as he helps Steve up. “We need to catch up to them.”

The two skid across the dirt in a haphazard gait. Bucky keeps an eye out for any threats while checking in on Steve now and again. Then he plunges forward, ushering Steve to stay close. They finally catch up to Clint and the rest huddled together beside a few bushes.

“You guys made it!” Wanda rejoices. “Thank God.”

Steve and Bucky crouch down as well. “What did you guys find out?” Bucky demands. He can feel anxiety looming closer. He knows that if he keeps mulling it over it’s going to stress his brains out, and he knows what stress does to his body.

“There are two of them,” Clint reports. “One of them is using some sort of firearm, and the other is using a machete. A big one.” He trails off, taking notice of Bucky’s undeterred expression. He can't help but get the sneaking suspicion that this is more than just his friend holding himself together. “Why aren’t you surprised?”

The other three pick up on his remark, and are soon looking toward Bucky for answers. Sweat builds on his brow as the questioning gazes burn his skin, and he breaks, looking away. He’d been trying to stave off the moment for when he had to confront them. But now that it’s time, he finds himself recoiling from the discussion.

“Bucky,” Clint hardens his glare.

Really, it doesn’t daunt him in the least, but he owes them an explanation.

“Let’s just head somewhere safe for now,” he says, “I’ll tell you everything then.”

And as they finally accept his deal, they rise very cautiously so that the next arrow or bullet doesn’t go through their eyes. Suddenly, something alerts them when the bushes rustle. They shrink away from them, but Wanda’s movement is quickly halted as a bulky hand latches onto her hair. The culprit then emerges from the shadows –a bull-necked, middle-aged man whose stomach is lopping over his belt. She nails the hand on her hair, desperate to fight her way from his clutch.

Bucky knows for certain it’ll be futile so he embarks on and tries to scrape the man’s arm with his pocket knife, just so that he’d loosen his grip for them to get Wanda away from him. However, Clint stops him midway with his frenzied crying and begging.

They all watch as the man lifts his machete and severs Wanda’s head off, the arterial spray coating the surrounding area and the man’s clothes and face in blood. Natasha lets out a despaired scream that shakes Bucky out of his horrified daze. Wanda’s head rolling down to his feet like a soccer ball was not a really cute thing to witness. It would traumatize him for years to come –if they ever leave these woods in one piece, that is.

He quickly turns around and pulls his friend, Clint, by the arm, adamant on fleeing the murderer.

They keep on running with no definite destination in mind, only thoughts of running away from the claws of a killer who has just beheaded a friend right in front of their eyes. The sun setting is not a great help right now. God, Bucky has no idea when this is going to end. Suddenly, an arrow shoots towards their direction and Clint tells them to duck, which they do. They quickly pick themselves up from the improvised fall and continue to run. Natasha trips and Clint rushes back to help her up, a hand in hers as they catch up with Bucky and Steve. Bucky can see the darkness slowly encroaching on them, and it twists his heart with agony: how the four of them are going to spend the night learning the endless chapters of survival.

Natasha is soon out of breath, and she tells them she has to rest or he will faint. Granted, Clint can’t leave her behind so he offers to keep her company while she tells the other two to keep going. But then even Steve flops down beside a tree, panting. “We’d all use a little rest,” he says, his sharp eyes falling on Bucky’s.

Said male feels immensely grateful, but he soon masks the delight on his face with a honed stoic expression. He also sits down, coughing slightly after all the running they’ve done.

“You guys think we lost’ m?” Clint wonders, now seeking a conversation after all the slaughter they have witnessed. Especially Bucky who had the wretched fortune of seeing Sam get chopped as well.

“I don’t know,” Steve offers, “but we’ll keep an eye out.”

“Bucky” –Clint’s voice and eyes are so void it scares Bucky– “What’re you hiding?”

He knows there’s no escape from the question just as there’s no chance to avoid the killers, so he decides to tell them. It’s okay. At least it’d make the burden lighter. He slants back on the tree stump and lets out a full-bodied sigh. “I saw two men earlier,” he starts, “I had been tracking the rabbit when I came upon a clearing, and I saw the same two men in a clearing, dragging a body.”

The rest sits up.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to scare you guys.” He looks over his lap. “We’d been dealing with a lot, and I didn’t wish to pile it on.”

“Did you see the body?” Steve asks, his eyes widening.

Bucky nods, and he can’t help but cover his face with shame and sadness. “It was Sam’s.”

“What?” Natasha barks. “And you thought it was so smart to keep it to yourself?”

He already knew they would retaliate like this, so he looks down in shame again and lets it come to him. Clint’s hitched gasp is what kills him.

“Where’s Edwin then?” He comes up to him, gripping him by the shoulders since Bucky is shirtless and there isn’t anything to keep Clint grounded. “Where is he, Buck?”

He shakes his head like a man who came out of war. “I don’t know,” he says, “I only saw Sam and he was already beaten to a pulp.” He doesn’t quite understand the withdrawn gesture his friend makes next: pulling away and sitting down with his knees to his chest.

“So the only ones who were supposed to send us help are… gone.” Natasha comments, and that’s probably the wrong thing to say because her words have just caused them to flinch so hard.

“I didn’t see Edwin,” Bucky reminds in hopes to cover up for the other losses. “So maybe he made it, we don’t know for sure.”

“Alright,” Steve tenses as he stands up, “we need to keep moving.”

“What’s the point?” Natasha grits out, “I don’t even know where we are.”

“Neither do I, but I don’t see a point in sitting here and waiting to die,” Steve drones, now inspecting everything around him. “It drops cold after sunset, so we better find a place to keep out of sight at least until the sun comes up.”

They all follow in a lethargic manner, in a way that speaks volumes of how they’re lost, or how they’re tired and  _just want to go home_. They know since their families must have tried to reach them by now, they’ll soon figure out something is wrong. They will send for search and rescue, but even that could take days. They don’t have that kind of free time when a man is flaunting a machete around, and the other is shooting arrows at anything that moves. After the long trek, going up and down, creeping between trees and scrubby bushes and crossing a river (just following Steve’s lead really), they finally come across a small cave on the other side of the river’s bank. They all feel delighted as they scurry to the safety they might find inside.

Bucky is the last to walk in, but honestly, he doesn’t want to. Right now, he needs a private place because everything that’s been happening in the past three days is finally taking its ugly toll on him and he can feel his gait getting more awkward. The little fragments of ataxia eventually want to hit him with full force, but he breathes through it. He watches as Clint and Natasha sit side by side in a corner and Steve flips his phone open for some light. The latter then lights up an old lantern that he finds between two rocks like that was his purpose.

“They might see the light!” Clint reproaches. “Turn the damn thing off.”

Steve tells him they won’t and goes on his way to discover the cave.

Bucky, although muddle-headed and wobbly because his blistering migraine is back, he slowly takes his pocket knife out and lifts it up in front of his face.

“What the hell are you doing now?” Natasha rebukes.

The other two look at him and at his sweat-crusted face, his bleary pupils momentarily slip under his lids, unfocused. His body is tottering back and forth. Soon all of them are on their feet, trying to will Bucky to put his weapon down. They’ve just found good cover for themselves from the taunting force, with which the two psychos are wreaking havoc outside, and now they have to deal with this too?

“Bucky, what are you doing, man?” Clint demands, brows meeting in a frown.

He clears his throat and gulps noisily, “Get away from him.” He gestures to Steve with his knife. Said male looks genuinely betrayed and surprised. And it doesn’t deter Bucky. “Are you deaf?” He howls at them. “Get away from him!” Steve’s legs shift just a little, and Bucky is soon pointing the knife in his direction. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Hold on a MO!” Clint says. “Just what is it that you think you’re doing?”

But Bucky’s eyes never leave Steve's. “You asshole,” he starts. “You really had me fooled.”

Steve slowly lifts his hand in a surrendering manner. “Bucky, please,” he begs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah?” Bucky scoffs, now wiping his forehead that’s glittering with more sweat. “It took me a while to figure it out, but I eventually put two and two together after I gave you the rope and you hung yourself.” He starts. “You said you were trekking, didn’t you?”

“Is that a crime now?” Steve half laughs, his eyes glancing over to the other two for their support on this one. The other two keep silent because they want to see how this pans out.

Bucky chuckles. “No, but that’s just the thing,” he says. Steve flashes a sad look at him, and he adds, “I didn’t find any map in your bag. Just now you told Natasha you didn’t know where we were either, but you led us right to this cave. You even flaunted about how the other two aren’t going to find us even with the lights on.”

“Yes.” Steve shrugs. “But that doesn’t prove anything,” he says. “I did come across this cave before, and I somehow managed to follow on my memory, that’s all there is.”

“Then how do you explain the two-way radio I found in your bag?” At this, Natasha and Clint snap their head to Steve, waiting for his explanation but Bucky doesn’t even allow it. “I remember you were telling us you didn’t bring your walkie-talkie with you,” he reminds them. “He told us that with his own mouth, but I found a two-way radio in his bag just before the explosion.”

“Yes, I carried one with me.” Steve admits. “But its battery is off, been that way for a few days now.”

Bucky feels his headache going up a few notches, and he knows sooner or later he’s going to be convulsing on the ground if this keeps up so he’d better wrap things up quickly. “The one who shot Peter was the same one Wanda saw, and she’s the one who told us what he was wearing.” He starts, and the others anticipate what kind of accusation will make its way out this time around. “So basically, we all learned the same information, and only today did we get to see that there’s more than one killer, but” –he smirks, his eyes still rolling under his lids and going back to focus– “You kept referring to him as they.”

Natasha and Clint slowly skid away from Steve when he only stares blankly at Bucky.

“You knew it was more than one when we were still dealing with Peter getting shot.” His voice is growing accusing as he talks more. “You told us about dead carcasses, but we’ve been running inside these woods for half a day and didn’t come across any. You knew the van was going to explode which is why you stopped me from getting to Peter and Gamora.”

Steve lowers his head.

“You tried to play us from the get-go, and I gotta say, you probably have.” Bucky reveals, his voice resonating in the cave. “But you referring to the killer as them was a dead giveaway, you sick son of a bitch.” When Steve looks up, that hint of shock and betrayal is replaced by an icy cold glare. His tongue snakes over his predacious smirk.

“You got me.”

The other two gasp in shock and approach Bucky instead.

“You work with those two?” Natasha demands.

Steve looks insulted for a moment. “Don’t lump me up with those two lowlifes,” he huffs. “I’m not as barbaric.”

“Are you serious?” Clint yelps. “People are dead because of you, horrendously so!”

“Hey. I did save your friend, did I not?” He points his index dangerously, and Clint winces.

“He died anyway.” Bucky rasps out, feeling the sadness tearing at his heart.

Steve lets out a sigh and steps a little closer, but Bucky lifts his knife more and threatens to cut the other if he so much as neared them an inch. “I have to say,” he starts, “you’re smarter than you look.” Sneering now, “But not smart enough.”

At this, they hear footsteps closing in on the cave’s entrance. Clint and Natasha look around since Bucky has to keep a guarding eye on the man before him. Their breathing hitches at the entrance of the two killers, God, as if they weren’t dealing with enough shit to begin with.

“You really think I’m going to let you out of that entryway?” Steve dares. When the three just stick to each other in a defending human shield, he paces about in a leisurely manner, as if he isn’t holding people captive or people didn’t die because of him. “Let me just make something clear,” he starts. “I wasn’t going to get involved. I gave my orders, and that was supposed to be about it, but then a little something happened, and I wanted to watch from the front seats.” He sighs, “I do feel bad about what happened to your friends,” he grins maliciously now. “But I’m not really sorry.”

“You asshole!” Natasha growls, “You’re the mastermind behind this psycho plan to kill us one by one?”

Steve tilts his head. “Pleasure to meet you.” His smile is cordial it makes Bucky’s already nauseated stomach lurch.

“But,” Bucky starts, “you saved Peter’s life.” He ends it less adamantly.

After a moment where Steve only stares amusedly at Bucky, he looks away and waves a hand. “Oh please,” he says. “I didn’t really care what was gonna happen to him, but then you were there, and I thought maybe I’d get it started with Good Samaritan charity, and you fell for it.” He smiles that conceited smile that makes the three feel like they’ve already lost the battle. “Come on, don’t look like that.” He gushes. “We’ve come so far now; I think we’re already friends!”

“Shut your trap,” Bucky bites out, “you killed my friends. You’re the one who caused all this.”

“Right.” Steve rolls his eyes and makes an aborted movement with his hand as if to tell the other that that was a given point. “I don’t really care about that either,” he says. “But Bucky” –his sharp eyes now fall on said male’s watery ones– “you guys were already broken before I stepped in. Why do you think the conflicts sparked up lately? It’s because you guys, despite acting all friendly, can’t really stand each other.” He dampens his lips when no comeback makes its way to him. “Wanda was the easiest target, I must say, being insecure all the time and all.” He points at Clint. “You were already dangling on a rope with how your friend kept shutting you off. And Natasha, your inferiority-complex is what got your miserable ass so far.”

“That’s why you manipulated Gamora?” Clint’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “That’s why you told me to mind my friend?” he shouts. “You were the one who played with our minds!”

“Correction,” Steve’s voice sounds deeper this time. “I just latched onto a conflict already there.” He shrugs. “I might have hinted it to Gamora that the van could still move and that Wanda had her eyes on her precious item. Also, I did tell you that your beloved friend wasn’t trusting you enough with his problems.” He was counting with his fingers before he stopped completely and looked seriously at them. “But you’re the ones who drove each other mad.”

“People are dead because of you!” Natasha cries out, her eyes already teary at the mention of her dead friends. "You killed my friends!"

“Technically, I didn’t.” He shrugs, and now waving at the two killers. “Those two did.”

When the trio is so shocked that they can’t even bring their lips to move, Steve takes them out of their misery. “Storytime over.” He claps, and it jolts the three out of their trance. “I’m tired of playing today, aren’t you?” They glare at him but Steve doesn’t even put it into consideration as he rolls his eyes and prods his gunshot wound. “I’m covered in dirt, and my arm is killing–” At this, he looks at Bucky. “Thanks for saving me by the way.”

Bucky feels the anger taking over whatever sanity he had left. He plunges forward, wanting to erase the existence of the twisted monster he’d just saved. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Steve chuckles provokingly. “With that?” He ushers at the pocket knife. “Cute.”

Bucky collides with the other after piercing the knife through the air, but Steve catches his hand mid-air and tries to punch him. The adrenaline rush gives Bucky a new momentum and he feints with his right and ducks. He isn’t fighting for himself, he is fighting to save his and his friends’ lives as well. He throws a punch here and receives another. Steve manages to kick the knife and send it airborne, spinning. Bucky makes the mistake of following the knife with his eyes and doesn’t see when Steve moves to punch him hard on the head. Natasha and Clint can’t move because the two killers are holding them by the shoulders at gunpoint. Bucky starts hearing sirens in his head, and everything starts spiraling in his eyeshot. His nausea hits the roof, and he reels on the ground with a groan.

“You think I didn’t pick up on your symptoms?” Steve says atop him, dusting off his shoulder to show them who the winner is and that he’s done it without breaking a sweat. “I’d see you swaying and paling. I knew it was just a matter of when before you got hit by a full-blown grand-mal since you didn’t take your meds at all today.”

Bucky’s right hand jerks, flexing itself in and out of a fist. He can hear Clint begging to be by his side because his seizures are usually rough, but Steve silences him with a cold glare. “Keep quiet,” he tells them, “if you make a sound, I won’t hesitate to give an order.” Once he makes sure that the two will keep quiet, he looks down at Bucky.

Bucky’s arm starts shaking violently and out of sync. His bleary eyes glancing over in a random pattern. Natasha and Clint can see terror slowly dwelling up into his eyes and fear coating his already pained expression. Bucky parts his lips to say something as his left hand clutches at his head, but all that comes out are garbled groans. Nobody understands what he is trying to say. His body is getting jerked by his arm’s strange and evidently vigorous reflexes. Soon the reflexes move to his torso as well, and he looks like he is getting pulled by the waist to one side. The others can see how Bucky looks terrified with all the eyes studying him. He keeps trying to speak as nervous ticks affect his facial movement. He makes a gurgled sound, and a choked-off whimper reverberates across the rocks. The frightened look in his eyes is slowly replaced by a glassy veil that just looks so distant, and that’s where Clint’s fear intensifies. His entire body starts twitching. Small tremors traveling up and down across his body as he keeps on whimpering and wheezing, unable to stop the convulsions.

Steve looms into Bucky’s eyeshot, curious and anticipant. The close-up look tells him precisely what he needed. “His eyes are dilated.”

The revelation makes the others want to get closer and get a clear image of what’s going on to Bucky, but only Steve was allowed closer.

Bucky’s eyes are narrowing now as his jaw ticks, and his fingers tighten over his chest. He grunts in pain again as he keeps on convulsing. Just as Clint started to believe that maybe his friend wasn’t going to have a tonic-clonic; if he’d just ride out these convulsions, he’d cross to the safe side soon and would come out of it disoriented – a little bruised, yes – but fine nonetheless, a severe spasm assaults Bucky’s right side along with his right limbs. He makes short sharp gasps, and his eyes no longer focus. They simply close.

“It’s happening,” Steve comments and the rest wait to see just what exactly is going to happen.

Bucky’s middle lifts from the ground. His back arches over forty degrees, and then it slams back down. His head lifts instead, but then it slams back on the ground too. Both of his arms are smacking against the ground. It keeps repeating. The movements are harsh and unrelenting, and Bucky is making deep, guttural and muffled cries. His tousled hair is whipping around as the involuntary seizing takes over him.

“Please,” Clint croaks out. “He’s going to end up splitting his head in two if you don’t do something about it.”

The hateful look Steve sends his way just then makes his blood run cold, and he realizes he’s just sentenced himself to death. But what he doesn’t expect is Steve considering his instruction, and then he almost eats up Bucky with his eyes. “I know that.”

He can’t feel shocked anymore. He only cries in silence as the man lets his childhood friend break his skull against the ground.

Bucky’s entire body is flailing and thrashing. Soon, blood starts splattering out of his mouth and covering his jaw and neck as he keeps whipping his head and cracking it back against the ground. Clint and Natasha can’t look anymore. If it weren’t for the machete guy holding her up, Natasha would have been on the ground wailing.

“Shit.” Steve grinds out, “He’s biting his tongue.”

The other two pay attention again and watch as he straddles the man withering with a severe seizure just close enough to manhandle him and not to get whacked by the flailing and thrashing. Steve takes his shirt off and balls it, placing it under Bucky’s head at fucking last. Then he quickly pulls back and stands at his earlier spot.

Clint finally breathes a sigh of relief. At least his friend wouldn’t end up with a concussion even if they all end up hung on meat hooks. It must have been two minutes, which means Bucky’s nightmare isn’t over yet. The higher he arches, the longer it’s going to last and the more painful it’s going to be for him with its aftermath. He wonders what his fate could be now that they all got caught by one heartless man.

Steve is still watching Bucky with, much to their surprise, hungry eyes that almost ravish his friend. Bucky’s body is wracked by more jolts, spasms, and convulsions. Blood continues to spurt out, and he keeps whimpering and moaning with pain.

Until he doesn’t.

Bucky slumps to the ground, head rolling across the dirt and then lolling to one side, mouth suddenly slackened.

Natasha and Clint along with the other two killers watch intently as Steve crouches down beside Bucky’s body. He looks down between his legs, and he drapes an arm over his head, covering it as he starts chuckling darkly with malice.

“'The fuck you getting hard for?” the guy with the bow and arrows scoffs. His gruff voice sends a cold shudder down Natasha’s spine as she remembers how he shot arrows at them and managed to kill one. But the thing he says is what makes the tremor more spoken because, after another examining look, she sees Steve flaunting a proud hard-on.

“Fuck.” The said man lets out a deeper chuckle this time as he slowly lifts his eyes to look over Bucky. “I just came in my pants.”

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

His consciousness is slowly returning to him. Bucky identifies the memory foam under his back. He can hear muffled voices, and a beep, intermittent and disembodied, as if coming from underwater. He drags his heavy lids open, blinking to clear the fuzzy vision as the fluorescent light assaults his pupils. The moment his bearings are intact, and he is awake enough –though a little disoriented, a vividly daunting memory flashes before him: the van, the explosion, Wanda’s head rolling to his feet, blood, and more blood. Then nausea hits him like a sucker punch. He groans, rolls over, and expels the contents of his stomach: fish and roasted rabbit disintegrated by bile. The stench is so ailing, and the tang on the back of his throat is so bitter. Just as the heaving subsides, Bucky falls back on the pillow. There is a pillow under his head, and he almost hates himself for even thinking it’s fluffier than the headrest of his seat in the van. He soon realizes that he is, in fact, unclothed. At this, he fights beyond the fuzziness and disorientation to sit up and study his surroundings.

It’s a twenty-eight square meter, windowless room with plastered walls and a wooden door across his bed. It’d have looked mostly empty if it wasn’t for the single bed he’s currently leaning on, the DRE wave-line monitor next to it over a workbench, and the IV pole. He follows the tube of the IV bag to the nook of his arm as a needle has been injected into the flesh. His other hand’s index is prickled by a blue pulse oximeter. But what gives him the crawly feeling is the spoken itch in the crown of his penis. He peels the cover off and finds a rubber tube inserted into his meatus and connected to a PVC urine bag which is attached to the bed frame below the level of his bladder. He knows better than to mess with any of the equipment, especially the one inserted into his meatus, but a nagging feeling deep within him is upping him to break free from these tubes and needles and walk out of that door. He knows he isn’t in a hospital. Even the scent of bleached floors and bed sheets couldn’t fool him. He also knows that if he isn’t in a hospital it only means the worst of his nightmares has happened, and he’s being held in here for someone’s entertainment.

He plugs the needle out of his arm with a croaked hiss. The prickling oximeter is annoying, so it goes next, but the tube inside the crown of his cock is what makes him hesitate. He pokes at it to determine its depth, but it proves it’s quite deep and even reaches his bladder. He inhales in a shaken breath before pulling at it, feeling the discomfort of the tube rubbing him from the inside; he eventually leaves it before he hurts himself or causes an infection. But the urgency to leave here to find his childhood friend and Natasha is far more insistent for him to ignore, so he swings his legs out of bed and makes to stand up. The room soon spins inside his head and he forces his eyes closed, willing the dizziness away. He decides he doesn’t have time to play patient as he holds on to every inanimate object on his way and skids towards the door with the urine bag in his hand.

He doesn’t care that he isn’t wearing anything. He doesn’t even care that a tube is dangling along with his penis. He only wants to get out. His unoccupied hand clutches at the door handle and presses it. It opens with an ominous creak. Outside, Steve is standing there, looking back at him with cold eyes. Bucky recoils from the door, from the other man, from his eyes. He backs away very carefully as Steve, dressed in a lab coat, walks in.

“So you’re up.” He drawls, the hints of a coming smirk are slowly revealing, “Took your sweet time, too.”

Bucky stills only when he is far enough but the uneasiness doesn’t ebb as Steve’s loafers clack the wood floor, approaching him.

“Where are Clint and Natasha?” Bucky asked in a shaky breath. “Where am I?”

Steve twists the corners of his lips and tilts his head, but the movement is so fleeting before he speaks again. “For someone who almost died, you sure sound healthy.” He ignores the horrified stare aimed at him as he shrugs, spinning his index clockwise in the room. “This is your new home.”

Alright, Bucky gets this part, and as sick as it sounds he only ignores it because fuck you, you sick bastard. Bucky is going to leave this place and will make Steve swallow his words when he torches this place down. “Where’s my friend?” He shoots the other a derisive glare when a sudden memory of Clint’s distressed face picks at his brain.

“Now, now,” Steve relents, thrusting his hands into his lab pockets. “How about you go back to bed?” He suggests. “I don’t know if those shaky legs of yours can carry you anymore. I bet you’re feeling quite groggy and–”

“Don’t fuck with me!” Bucky berates, fumingly.

The calm expression over Steve’s face morphs into one which he can’t read: void and titles trouble. Steve draws closer thus making Bucky back away from him again until the two are cut short by the bed. Bucky’s eyes are on Steve’s cold ones all the way, on edge. Studying any changing signs that might tell him he’s reached the end of his life. Steve crouches only slightly and uses a hand to probe Bucky’s inner thigh; the latter flinches from the fingers brushing against his skin. He pushes Steve off when he feels he is being pressed down.

“Get your hands off me!” Bucky yelps through a strained voice.

“Stop moving.” Steve orders, “I have to unclip the catheter.”

Bucky sits motionless with his legs spread open at the edge of the bed. Steve kneels by them after putting on disposable gloves. He resumes his work, and Bucky only watches. He is aware of the fact that he doesn’t want this man anywhere near him, but the image of him haring off between the trees when he makes a run with a urine bag is a lot more disturbing for him to allow. He watches as Steve closes the valve of the bag because there isn’t any urine to empty. Bucky assumes that’s most likely because he wet his pants during his seizure. Steve takes out a syringe from his pocket and pushes it into some port. Bucky watches intently as water begins to fill in the syringe.

“I need you to relax.” Steve suddenly requests as he disposes of the gloves along with the urine bag and the syringe. “I’m removing it now.”

Bucky sits up properly, not anticipating pulling out a four or five inches tubing into his bladder. But he bears with it when one of Steve’s gloved hands holds his cock, and the other gently pulls on the catheter. Bucky hisses at first, he lifts his eyes just briefly, finding Steve’s wide blue-green eyes studying his grimace with something akin to hunger, Bucky’s limbs freeze. Steve pulls on the tube more, and the movement is driving Bucky to shift to try to pull away from the burning sensation.

“Stay still.” Steve’s voice is so velvety. “You might end up with internal injuries if you don’t.”

Bucky would rather jump off a cliff that overlooks a valley of flames than obey a murderer’s order, but the thought of internal injuries inside his bladder, or worse, his penis, isn’t very appealing, so he eventually acquiesces. The burning sensation remains only temporary before it leaves him completely when Steve manages to remove all of the tube.

He straightens up, taking off the second pair of gloves and inspecting Bucky’s clinked face. “You’re gonna feel uncomfortable the next time you take a leak but you won’t have to endure it for too long. It eases off after a couple of days.” He says, “Also, it’s normal if you see some blood in your urine, you don’t have to panic.” Saying so, he gathers the dispersed supplies and makes for the door.

“I asked you a question,” Bucky says after the man, who pauses midway until he words his question again. “Where’s my friend?”

Steve doesn’t give the other the answer he wants nor does he spare him a glance as he opens the door and closes it after he is outside. Bucky hears the clanging of keys before he picks on its final click. So, he’s being locked in, not that he didn’t expect it. Steve is being so darn stupid leaving him alone with all these equipment that he sure as hell can use as an alternate for a key. He tugs at the needle of the IV tubing and plucks it out. He looks around for something to replace a wrench but eventually makes for the door when he finds none. He kneels by the door and starts picking the lock, but the realization leaves him out of breath when he finds another object inserted into the lock from the other side. He soon understands that Steve has left the keys inside the hole so that Bucky couldn’t open it from the inside.

Bucky slumps on the door, defeated. He’s been outsmarted again.

Steve always has the upper hand in everything, and it makes him feel like he is being drifted into the other’s pace whether he likes it or not, which he loathes. He loathes the man. Everything he does or says is loathsome. He killed his friends, and God knows what else he did to Clint and Natasha.

 

 

Bucky had come to discover an indoor bathroom when he found a camouflaged white knob blending with the same color of the walls. The bathroom was small and plain with a sink, a flush toilet and a shower faucet, nothing for him to use as a weapon for when his escape plan kicks off, because it will, by God Bucky will make it.

 

The keys jingle, a sound that sends a tremor of queasiness through Bucky’s body. Then the door to the room opens again, and Steve saunters in without a lab coat this time. He is pushing a service trolley lined with a few dishes of food and a few cups. Bucky walks out of the bathroom, his steps calculated and careful as he approaches the bed.

“Don’t be so stiff,” Steve said with a smile after he takes in the naked man from head to toe with entertained eyes.

Bucky’s brows twitch a bit before he braces himself some more, tensing with apprehension and caution.

“Well, not that I care.” Steve shrugs when there is nothing forthcoming. He pushes his hands into his pockets and adds “brought you some food, think you can keep it down?”

Bucky hardens his glare, “Where’s Clint?”

Steve lets out a small sigh before rolling his eyes, “Counter-question me again and see what happens.” He says it so flippantly but the threat is evident and daunting in there that Bucky knows better than to overlook it. Steve’s eyes then fall on the mess Bucky made after he woke up. “You still haven’t cleaned that up?” At this, he beckons to the vomit beside the bed’s foot with his head. Bucky glances over at it fleetingly before looking back at Steve, “I better not find it next time I’m here, or you’re gonna be cleaning it with your tongue.”

Bucky believes him to be psychotic enough to do it, make him clean his vomit with his tongue, so he makes an innate note to cleanse it after Steve leaves. As yielding and as appeasing as that sounds, Bucky doesn’t think cleaning something he cast from his stomach with his tongue would be any less humiliating, so if he is to choose between the less of two evils, damn straight he’ll choose to keep his tongue clean.

They hold eye contact for a brief moment before Steve nears the bed, his sharp eyes never leaving Bucky’s, and neither is Bucky’s. Steve takes his hands out of his pockets and sits at the edge of the bed, a leg crossing over the other as he smiles thinly. His movements are smooth and gracious that if Bucky didn’t witness the gory decapitation with his own eyes, he’d have seriously mistaken this psycho for royalty.

“Come here.” He pats the edge of the bed. “Sit.”

“You must really have a screw loose if you think I’ll do anything you tell me,” Bucky scoffs, and the vehemence in his eyes is more spoken that he has Steve’s complete attention. “I don’t want you anywhere near me, and I don’t want to be anywhere near you either.”

Steve’s smile drops and his hand precipitously darts to Bucky’s. The latter gasps and before he gets to recoil it he is being pulled and pushed to the bed, he lands on it with a deep grunt. Steve is straddling his abdomen in a millisecond, his hands on his neck, squeezing the jutted veins back in. Bucky’s eyes snap open, red-rimmed and belligerent.

“Let me lay it out for you real clear,” Steve sing-songs, his short hair managing to parachute over Bucky’s face, and his eyes… they’re wicked. “You seem to be under the erroneous impression that I give a flying fuck about what you want. I don’t.” He shrugs in matter-of-factly, his hands squeezing more as Bucky’s tap and scratch at them to mitigate the pressure down a little. “I own you now. Your life is mine to command, whether I kill you or let you live is my decision to make.” He says, “You have privileges now because I see it fit, but the second you become trouble I’m getting rid of you without a thought.”

Bucky’s eyes are looking up now but more horrified than daring, he considers the other’s words for what they are, a threat he concludes. But Steve has some other things to add so he’d end the deal as he ducks in, his nose almost touching Bucky’s.

“Be a good boy now and do as I say.” He drones almost in a whisper, “That is, if you still want to see your friend.”

Bucky’s heart gives a vigorous throb before it settles down, “Is he alright?” His voice is a rasp because Steve’s fingers are still pressing on his neck. “Can I see him?”

“Yes and no,” Steve smiles playfully now, and then he falls silent all of a sudden.

Bucky feels the pressure on his neck building more, suffocating. He can feel his veins protesting and popping across his temples as his face grows redder in the shade. “L-let me…” but the hands on his windpipe press impossibly too much, and Bucky knows that if it entails strenuous effort to breathe, then he only has seconds before he blacks out. He lifts his leg to knee the other in the crotch or the flank, but Steve’s angle isn’t quite that off his waist, so he ends up flailing his leg in the air to no avail. Beyond his shallow breathing, he can hear Steve’s deep and prolonged pants, and much to his dismay, a hard-on is slowly growing in size over his hip and poking him. He glares through slanted eyes, which are slowly being blurred, finding a trace of malevolence in Steve’s that want nothing in the world but to hurt him and enjoy every bit of it.

Finally, Steve’s hands release him and Bucky inches in on himself, coughing and inhaling all at once. His brain finally getting some much-needed oxygen and his tendons barely relaxing.

“Now. Food.” Steve chirps, he pulls away and sits beside Bucky who sits up with a hardly contained wince. Those cold fingers that have been choking breath out of him will certainly bruise, and it might be hard to swallow for the next couple of days too. Steve brings the trolley nearer so he’d pick the dishes without having to go through the trouble of stretching to change between meals. “Let’s go with something easy to stomach,” he says, picking out a bowl of stew, “Your seizure was kinda rough, and you took quite the bashing to your head.”

“I wonder whose fault is that.” Bucky presses his lips together to feign a smile, it’s all sarcasm-heavy.

 

It earns him a furious glare, but then Steve drags on, intentionally ignoring the remark. “That’s why I pumped you heavy on anticonvulsants.” He fills up a spoon from the delicious smelling stew and aims it to Bucky’s mouth. The latter cocks a brow, getting fed by a killer, whose hands must be covered in blood from all the people he’s ended and found pleasure in, is not particularly at the forefront of Bucky’s to-do list. However, after what he’s just heard about his friend being fine, Bucky fights past this enormous temptation to snap the spoon from Steve and stab it into his eyes, and then he parts his lips. Steve feeds him down to half a bowl when Bucky finally pulls away, full.

“I’m leaving the table here,” Steve informs, placing the bowl back into the said trolley. “And you’d better clean that mess before I come back.” Saying so, he heaves as he pushes up to his feet, his hard-on has long since calmed down, and Bucky is grateful for that.

Steve waltz out of the room leisurely.

Bucky scrutinizes the door, and the click of the lock doesn’t escape him too. He looks at this from all sides: Steve’s mood swings that switch when it’s convenient for him, how the volatile attitude is righteously affecting Bucky and the bruises on his neck stand as a discernible proof. He knows he can’t be part of Steve’s house play, playing ‘pet’ for a murderer isn’t even that fun. It’s not supposed to be enjoyable and, damn it, Bucky gets that, but he’s doomed if he doesn’t play along. He’s banking on this to get him a friends’ reunion with Clint and Natasha, hopefully soon too because this entire play is ridiculous. He glances over at the mess of grilled fish and roasted meat he made on the floor, and the stench of ailing bile finally gets to him, so he rises to his feet, uses a towel he saw hanging onto a well-installed rack inside the bathroom. He dips it good in water and makes to clear the floor with it.

 

 

An undetermined time goes by with him lying on the headboard of the bed and staring blankly at the door.

He doesn’t know what day it is, what time it is. He’s certainly noticed the temperature drop and is hoping October is finally bringing some rain and cold.

It’d be all right if Clint was receiving the same treatment. Well, minus the throttling and the threatening, getting delicious food, and having his own bathroom would be more than enough, thank you. They could figure out the rest later. What matters now is to stay in shape, especially in Bucky’s case. Although Steve said he gave him plenty of anticonvulsants, it still doesn’t stop the crushing possibilities that it might take a turn to the worst and he falls to the ground, seizing. The last one must have been pretty bad, he guesses, the egg-sized bump in the back of his head is like a traffic neon sign providing a vivid depiction of what must have gone down. It’s all the more reason he makes sure this pans out in their favor. He knows it’s not going to be easy, especially if he doesn’t know what became of Natasha and his friend. Maybe it was selfish of him to ask about his friend and leave out Natasha, but it’s not like Steve –if that’s really his name, was handing detailed reports back in. The sick man barely gave him anything concrete. It’d be lies for all Bucky knows, and maybe… everyone else is dead.

Being realistic hurts.

But the circumstances contrast with the speculations his dead friends used to make and as such, had no basis in reality. But Bucky knows more now, he isn’t being kept in the dark and oblivion about who the enemy and ally are. He knows the murders, and he knows his friends, all they need now is a plan.

 

*******

 

He wakes up startled when delicate fingers glide down his neck. The bed sheets rustle harshly as Bucky withdrawals from Steve's touch. “What’re you doing?” He says over an audible gulp because those bruises ache, his voice is warring with indignation.

Steve lifts placating hands but keeps on sitting on the bed with his legs crossed on one another. “You’re a bit ripe,” he says, “go take a shower.”

Something is reeling within Bucky, willing him to keep away from those caring words and gentle fingers, to see past them at the malicious smirk and the bemused eyes. Bucky flings the cover aside and gets out of bed. He can feel Steve's eyes on his body, gluttonizing him with an enormous appetite. It’s unnerving, and Bucky finds himself bolting to the bathroom as fast as his legs can carry him.

“Don’t.” The order is coming, soft-spoken but intimidating. “Don’t close the door.”

“What.” Bucky swivels around to face the other, “I’m not entitled to my privacy now?”

The icy glare Steve shoots him is enough to silence Bucky, and he knows he better save that dash of condescension to himself. He retreats immediately and skids into the bathroom without a second complaint. As the water flushes down on his naked body, steamy and warm, Bucky brings his hand to his neck, barely ghosting over the skin and a powerful memory of Steve's cold fingers touching him replays without his consent. Rage almost blinds him on the spot. He wouldn’t know what to do if Steve decided this amount of touching wasn’t enough, if he suddenly woke up the next day wanting to do more than touch? It’s not that far-fetched possibility and Bucky is probably having the crisis of his life because his friends' survival and his depend on this but he doesn’t know if he’d be able to sit tight if Steve took it up a few notches and decided raping his brains out was certifiable. When he gets out thoroughly soaked, he finds Steve still sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. He cocks his head with a pair of baffled eyes announcing his confusion. “Provided that I left a towel in there for you, why the heck are you dripping wet?”

“Oh, that.” Bucky clicks his tongue, “Used it to clean up the floor.”

Steve hums, now uncrossing his legs as he stands up very slowly. “Well, that’s some slapdash attitude from a smartass like you.” Saying so, he draws nearer to Bucky whose frames tense evidently hard. “You know,” Steve starts once he halts a breath away from Bucky, the latter feels the other’s body heat oozing abundantly and putting into consideration his damp skin and the awful drop in temperature. Bucky almost slops into the radiant warmth. Steve brings up a hand and the other eyes it with visible trepidation, but only the fingernails tap at the skin of his upper arm, sliding up and down ever so gently. “You seem to lack discipline.”

“And you seem to lack a heart.” Bucky counters, a mix of sarcasm and admonishment tolling his tone.

“It’s not that I lack a heart per se,” Steve shrugs offhandedly. “I’m just impervious to any sob story I’m told while I cut into the flesh.”

Bucky fists his hands, the logical side of him tells him it’d all end for the worst if he hooks that stunning fist to Steve’s nose, but darn every other fiber in him is rooting for him to do it. “Huh,” he scoffs. “I gotta hand it to you, though, your perseverance is quite acute.”

“Well, there you have it–” Steve glides those fingers to the area under Bucky's left ear, kneading sensually. The movement deliberately stalled. Although he’d like to secrete this from every living soul, Bucky can at least admit to himself that little flutter of his eyes when he fleetingly drowned in the sensation “–Source of my dedication.” Steve finishes lightly; it’s too brash and unassertive to add any genuineness to his statement.

“What’ you want from me?” Bucky suddenly blares, his brows meeting in a frown. “Why are you keeping me here?”

Steve clicks his lips as though he’s been asked this countless times already that it’s starting to work on some of his nerves that would rather decapitate than give a legitimate answer. The fingers rubbing along Bucky’s neckline have paused and the latter fears the onset of a full-scale verbal lambasting, or worse, a machete to his neck. But Steve soon recovers from whatever anger that’s managed to slip in, and he gives another one of his slight smiles. His fingers cupping Bucky’s shoulder now to propel him. “Get on your knees.”

“The fuck I am.” Bucky slaps the hand on his shoulder away and steps back, his eyes defiant.

Steve’s expression turns grim, and he looks unsympathetically bored stiff with life, his eyes droopy and he rolls them again. “We can compromise.” He starts, “You either go on your knees, or I make you.”

Bucky’s tongue snakes to wet his parched lips. He has to flee away. He has to escape from this human pile of psychosis and insanity now that his dignity is still intact. The door to the room suddenly opens again and the machete bald guy bursts in wearing a bloody butcher’s apron. “Mr. Rogers” He says, his eyes searching Bucky’s body and his defensive posture. Steve turns his head to the man, and Bucky latches at the opportunity. He dashes to the door, but Steve is quicker as he takes an iron grip on Bucky’s elbow and pulls him back to him, the latter squirms, doing his hardest to rip off of the other’s ridiculously strong grip. He hears Steve curse beneath his breath before something stings under his earlobe. Bucky snaps his eyes open and looks at the syringe Steve’s just injected him with as he tosses it aside. He immediately lets go of Bucky who is groaning as a burning sensation spreads from the needle mark, he cups it and sashays away from Steve again, his eyes roam about the room as he pants, wincing in between.

Steve adjusts his dress shirt and the sleeves, his movements are firm and brisk. “Do I always have to do everything myself?” at this, he looks at the man standing by the door. “Get lost, nosy old so-and-so. And don’t think it’s over, I’m dealing with you after this.”

The man bows his head and quickly leaves, closing the door after him.

“Now,” Steve lets out a little sigh that the hindrance is gone. “I’d like you to get on the bed.”

Bucky is still clutching at his neck and moaning, the excruciating pain is gradually becoming unbearable as it spreads to his head. “What the hell did you inject me with?”

“What did I tell you about counter-questions?” He reminds, a slight degree of indignation creeping in his tone. He walks up to the other who is too absorbed in his pain to flinch away from him. He grips a fistful of Bucky’s dark strands, yanking his head back so their eyes can meet. “You see, I lied when I said I was a med student.” He smiles cheekily, “I’m a neurologist, a Harvard graduate too, Buck.” He snorts derisively, “I have to say, you’re quite the lucky bastard because I might be able to help you with your epilepsy.”

At this, Bucky shoots him a fiery glare. And instead of crunching under its heat, Steve rejoices outwardly.

“Come on now,” he trills hintingly, “you’re gonna make me hard if you keep looking at me like that.”

Bucky would have spat in the other’s face if it wasn’t for the involuntary cry of pain that escapes his mouth, resonant and miserable. Steve parts his lips and scowls, “ _Fuck_ ” he breathes out, “Do it more.”

Bucky staggers and forges through the wavy shapes within his eye-shot. He holds on with a hand to the frame of the bed before he dives to the floor nose first. His other hand is clutching at his hair, trying to will the pain to ease off. He can feel his entire body being assaulted with painful tremors and he feels absolutely helpless not knowing how to stop it. Just what did Steve inject him with? He looks towards said man with his own bleary eyes and almost yelps at the hungry pupils watching him with such keen fixation. Another tremor vibrates across his body and Bucky mewls with pain. But his eyes never leave Steve’s as the latter palms his crotch, touch faint, the enigmatic expression veiling his face drives Bucky over the edge.

“I’d get on the bed if I were you,” Steve suddenly offers. “Here’s a pretty brief closure. It’s a handmade magical potion, so to speak.” He starts, “It’s a liquefied substance with a tiny chemical formula that causes friction within your neurons. It won’t kill you, but it’s an equivalent to a pain inducer, so you’re gonna feel pretty crappy for the next twenty minutes or so.” He simpers, looking pleased with his handiwork.

Bucky tries to quickly fathom the idea of getting injected with a chemical substance that would sure as hell give him cancer in the long run, but then the question remains, “Why?”

Steve scoffs as if he never expected this kind of reaction, “Now that’s a stupid question to ask, Bucky.” He shakes his head, disbelieving of the reaction. He eventually crouches beside his captive, their eyes on each other’s, “you see, cutting into the flesh used to bring me so much pleasure, but I’ve grown out of it.” He shrugs, “it bores me.” Now a smirk lithers his lips, “and then I saw you seize…” he snorts, a little admiringly if Bucky cared to analyze, but then he decides against finishing his sentence and only makes do with touching Bucky’s sweaty forehead, “Just let it happen.” He says in an undertone, “Cry out more for me and make me cum.”

Bucky isn’t fragile as to let Steve have his way with him so he swipes the other’s hand, and coils up, holding on to the bed frame until the color leaves his knuckles. Steve doesn’t let him though as he hoists him up and pushes him to the bed. They both bounce with the impact.

Bucky turns to lie on his right, clutching at both sides of his head as he moans brokenly. Steve only watches. A few minutes go by with Bucky withering more and more and then something changes, the degree of pain maybe. Bucky is shouting his lungs out as his neurons get marred within him. He cries out and thrashes, still clutching at his head with both hands as tears stream down his eyes. “M-make it…” he lets out another anguished cry, “Make it stop!”

“Yeah… ” Steve moans but it’s influenced by irrepressible pleasure. “It feels good.”

“Stop…” Bucky rasps out as the ability to communicate leaves him. His insides must be crumpling under the onslaught because the pain is no longer bearable. He only stares blankly and moans to protest against the pain. He feels Steve kneel beside him, more rustling, a zipper undoes, and Steve is soon panting. Bucky hears a wet sound of sticky meats flapping against one another. It only takes him that much to put two and two together and finally come out with the horrifying realization that Steve is masturbating. Another painful wave hits him, and he arches his back, letting out more broken whines under the assault. Above his cloud of pain and hurt, he hears Steve’s panting picking up as well as does the sticky sound of him rubbing his cock off. Bucky never thought he’d be thankful for feeling pain, but now that he can’t see Steve jerking off, he does feel grateful, or else the image would have scarred his eyes for years to come. He eventually prays his pain could stop or he’d end up with some mental disability. Someone up there actually hears his prayers and then he is slowly drowning in darkness.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

Bucky feels the burn of the IV on the nook of his arm before he hears the intermittent beeps. Though, he hears something else. Someone is talking, and that deep voice can’t be mistaken. It’s what’s become Bucky’s nightmare as of late: Steve. But he is also talking to someone else, a woman by the sound of it. Bucky forges between the haziness just to open his heavy lids, but all he manages is a groan. The voices fall silent, and he groans more but other than that, he doesn’t do anything.

 

 

The next time, he wakes up to someone shaking him. He hears the same voice of the woman rousing him from his comfortable yet dreamless sleep. He forces himself to open those damn eyes, and among the foggy dots, he sees a woman peering down worriedly at him.

“If…he was… your friend…”

Her voice is muffled, but Bucky knows it’s his ears that are plugged with his own sleepiness and drowsiness. And what’s that about his friend? As the realization sinks in, his eyes shoot open and he hears the bits after she starts getting frenzy, looking at him and switching to look at the door behind her.

“That’s all I know, Steve took him to the room at the end of this hallway.”

Bucky feels the onset of a migraine, but he ignores it in favor of hearing what this wide-eyed blonde has to say.

“He keeps him there.” She says, “You have to save him and leave this place!”

“Who are you?” Is what pops into Bucky’s head, but it’s a little slurred. He hopes she got the meaning at least. “Why are you helping?”

“I’m Steve’s personal assistant.” She whispers urgently, “Please.” She looks at the door and then back at Bucky again. “You need to get away. He’s getting out of control!”

Bucky’s hazel-blue eyes finally focus, and his heart starts beating faster.

“He’s leaving for a meeting this afternoon,” she informs him hastily. “You’d better leave then!”

The door to the room suddenly flies open and the nightmarish man saunters in with his hands in his pockets, giving absolutely no care to the world. That arrogant smile is doing strange things to Bucky’s anger. He pauses by the bed and faces Bucky.

“What’re you still doing here?” He addresses the woman but his eyes never leave Bucky’s.

The woman fidgets and fumbles with the IV pole, “Oh” she stutters, “I was just checking on his vitals. After the head scan, I’m quite worried that–”

“Get out.” He cuts her off with the crude order.

She nods, and her eyes fall on Bucky’s. He follows her movement as she hums her understanding and scurries out of the room, her high heels tapping on the plank. And then it’s just him and Steve in the room again and the deafening silence.

“So you finally came to,” Steve remarks, relaxingly.

“Not thanks to you.” Bucky counters.

As he focuses on Steve’s hands so that if he brings up a syringe suddenly he would see it, Bucky notices another thing. The white sleeved shirt he is currently wearing and the black sweatpants.

Apparently, Steve picks up on those thoughtful eyes that are currently scanning his body.

“They’re clothes,” He scorns. “I’m sure they don’t bite.”

Bucky looks away from his clothes, “I’m sure they don’t.” His words are insidious despite the triviality of the expression.

Steve cocks a brow and soon takes his hands out of his pockets, “There have been massive temperature drops lately, as you may have noticed.” He starts, skulking soundlessly closer to the bed. “And I can’t exactly allow a heater into the room, so I thought to myself what the best alternative is.” Saying so, he slowly sits down on the bed and crosses his legs. “Clothes.” He beams.

Bucky scoffs and unconsciously skids to the headboard, away from those predatory eyes that seem to desperately want to hide under the beam and the nonchalant behavior. “And here I thought you finally had a personality transplant,” he starts. “Guess this is just a new level of your assholery.”

Steve’s beam disappears.

Bucky winces inwardly, and for some reason, he can’t take his eyes off Steve. For a moment he thinks maybe this is what they call 'paralyzing fear.'

“Keep the levity coming,” He tilts his head, “it might cost you a little something though.” And when Bucky only twitches his brows at him, Steve licks his upper lip and leans into Bucky’s space; he places a couple of fingers over his captive’s jawline. “Say a hand maybe, your tongue. Maybe I’ll chop off both your arms.”

Bucky eyes the cold smirk with a pair of terrified eyes and the heartbeats in his ears are so loud he almost hears nothing. He wants to slap the hand on his face away. He wants to kick Steve off and make a run for it but his entire body is twitching with blatant fear.

“Oh I know,” Steve’s face suddenly lightens up with a creepy smile. “How about another dose of that pain inducer?”

Anything but that, Bucky shakes his head frantically and darn he knows he has just played right into his captor's hands, given him the leverage he needs to break him if he so chooses. He wants to call for a do-over, but he knows nothing will deter Steve from his vigilance.

“Though another dose of that might liquefy your brain, but you get the point.” Steve shrugs.

“Yeah I do, I mean your face is kinda telling me that loud and clear.” Bucky mutters, grouchily.

Steve’s eyes widen, “You obviously don’t,” he says, almost disbelievingly. “You really have the attention span of a happy dog.”

Bucky bears with the brunt of the insult and remains silent.

“I’d like to try something different today,” Steve sighs and takes it to the topic Bucky is so adamantly trying to avoid. “But I need you fit as a fiddle for this, so go on, take a shower first.”

“What’s that you sick fuck?” Bucky’s mouth opens again, ready to utter another bout of colorful curses when Steve’s hand comes up out of thin air and clutches his hair. Bucky winces audibly this time as he gets pulled towards the man before him.

“Now that’s a potty mouth you have!” Steve sing-songs, gripping tightly on the smooth strands and enjoying the little-stifled winces Bucky makes under his assault. “What? You were raised in a barn or something?”

Bucky’s eyes finally fall on Steve’s, and the amusement in them doesn’t go unnoticed. Bucky then grits his teeth and glowers at the other. “You wanted me to take a shower, didn’t you?” He reminds, his hands coming up to the one clutching his hair despite the change in altitude. “Then let go.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for quite the pause. “Now,” he scoffs. “You act as though I’m under your command. Are you just dumb or are you trying my patience for real?” He gives Bucky’s head a hefty shove. “Because last time I checked, I was the one who brought you here, so I am the one who has authority over you.”

Give Bucky one reason why he shouldn’t spit in this fucker’s face.

“You’re gonna have to play by my rules if you ever want to get outta here.” He says, now hauling Bucky’s head to the back so their noses can touch. “But for now, you’re mine.” His smirk deepens evilly. “You’re my little bitch in every sense of the word.”

Their eyes roam in each other’s, defiantly from Bucky’s part, but maliciously from Steve’s.

Bucky caves in than hollering ‘in your dreams’, he knows that at this point, it’s an authority thing. Steve seems like the type who doesn’t like to be told what to do or how. He likes to play in his own rules and gladdens when his rivals follow on his pace. Bucky doesn’t cave in because he’s scared… well he is that too, but he doesn’t retaliate because, in spite of everything, Steve still has leverage. With one wrong word, Bucky can doom his childhood friend and Natasha –if she’s still alive.

He starts to feel the pressure on his hair lessen, and he can finally move more freely. Without a complaint, Bucky sits up. Annoyed with the constant perfusion, he rips out the IV needle from the perforated hole on the nook of his arm that’s starting to bleed now. He unclips the pulse oximeter from his thumb next and finally swings his legs out of bed. When he walks into the bathroom, he remains sentient about Steve big dislike for closed doors, especially the bathroom, so he leaves it ajar. After he takes his new clothes off and hangs them on the towel rack, he stands under the shower head, turns on the faucet, and waits for the hot water to regenerate.

 

The bathroom is soon clouded with misty steam, and the humidity comes in the spurts of spray droplets on the walls. Bucky kneads his scalp and enjoys the impact of water on his porcelain skin…

Larger hands rest on his hips, and Bucky makes a clipped noise of horror as his body freezes. Steve is standing right behind him, his breath falling onto Bucky’s nape, hot and shuddering.

“What –” The words are bewitched to remain unspoken, and Bucky feels the powerlessness hitting him on blast.

Steve’s mouth touches Bucky’s left ear, and the hands on the hips start to glide down towards Bucky’s groin. “Such a lush body.” He comments into Bucky’s ear. “I saw you lying there on bed,” he purrs. “You make me want to do things to you…” His hands ghost over Bucky’s cock. “Inflict unimaginable pain on your delicate skin, carve it with a scalpel, and enjoy hearing you scream.”

Bucky shrivels up under the haunting words. He knows no man should hear this and feel glee, but his treacherous body is starting to react, and his cock is embarrassingly twitching in response to the hard-on poking his ass. Steve then licks a spot behind Bucky’s ear and just as suddenly, he fists his cock and the latter lets out a startled yelp.

“You made me weird!” Steve bellows, his hand jerking off the captured cock relentlessly.

Bucky braces two arms onto the wall before his knees could fail him too. His mouth is already letting out muffled moans, and his cock is enjoying the rough treatment. One complaint and he’d sentence everyone to death. But being sexually assaulted like this is not exactly a stroll in the park either. This could turn out pretty bad for Bucky, and he’s old enough to know the consequences.

He feels one of Steve’s hands –the one that’s not occupied with shaming him, starts to pull Bucky so he can lean back onto his shoulder. Bucky isn’t practically lucid to fight him right now especially with his orgasm looming in, so he lets Steve do as he pleases. He lets him manhandle him to lean back on him, his head on the psycho’s broad shoulder. He feels Steve’s breath coming ragged onto his ear, and just like that, the last string that connects him to sanity gets clipped, and Bucky is shooting his cum to the wall with a prolonged whimper.

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky startles awake. He sits up abruptly and relaxes a little when he finds no one in the room but him. He’s in the bed, already dressed. Steve must have help put the clothes back on him. It’s not like it makes Bucky the least bit happy. The psycho went ahead and touched him, who knows what else he did while Bucky was unconscious. And the fact that Bucky didn’t feel the sick man approaching him from behind in the bathroom stands proof that his reflexes are getting rusty.

Just then, that mysterious woman’s words echo in his mind and Bucky jumps up to his feet. He knows Steve must have left the key attached to the keyhole so he can’t use the IV needle to pick the lock, so he aims for the bathroom and tears off some toilet paper. He then makes for the locked door and crouches beside it. He folds the papers very neatly, and slides them under the door beneath the key’s level. Using the IV needle, he pokes the key and, although he fails in the first two-three attempts, the key eventually falls on the papers without a clang. He slowly pulls the papers towards him, careful not to make the key tip over. At last, he holds the key in his hand and quickly uses it to unlock the door, peering out stealthily, and, luckily, there’s no one outside. It’s a long hallway but he can’t help but think things are looking up for him.

The woman said that Clint is inside some room at the end of the hallway, Bucky will free him and then the two will get out of here and tell the police everything, and hopefully they’ll rescue Natasha. He swivels in all directions, his ears alert for any sound and his eyes surreptitiously looking around him for any movement. The tiled hallway finally comes to an end, and Bucky finds a wooden door with a key sticking out. He guesses Steve’s been doing the same trick here too.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Bucky spins around almost instantaneously, finding Steve standing right behind him, creeping up on him like an undesirable darkness. Bucky backs away until his back hits the door. There’s an amused look on Steve’s face, and Bucky looks at it with horror. Just then, someone else walks into the hallway from a sliding door behind him and she moves to stand beside Steve. Her lab coat and her high heels tell Bucky she’s involved in “medical something.” Bucky eyes them both as they eye him back, but their gaze is more searching. And that’s when Bucky remembers that the woman is the same one who told him where his friend was.

“Huh!” She chuckles behind her elegant fingers. “He really came to this room.”

“Miss. Potts,” Steve says over his shoulder, but his eyes don’t steer away from Bucky’s, “you put him up to this?”

“I thought you looked pretty bored and wanted to give you a little something to play with. I didn’t think he was this gullible.” She laughs now. “And he believed every word I said. That’s a foolish thing to do considering I’m a stranger who introduced herself as Steve’s ‘assistant.’”

Bucky’s heart bleeds.

Her laugh crescendos to a small chuckle, but it’s still sarcastic and Bucky hates it and hates her.

Without his consent, one of Bucky’s hands balls into a fist and pierces the air, almost hitting Steve’s cheek. But the latter ducks just in time to dodge the hit. His feet stretch forward to smash with Bucky’s ankles, knocking him off balance. Bucky lands on his side, letting out a winded sound, and quickly rotates his body to do a back-flip that Steve admires. He brings his hands up and instigates a ‘come and get me’ gesture, which infuriates Bucky. He trudges on again in a full attack. Steve continues to dodge the blows, ending with a side smack to Bucky’s neck. The latter totters to the ground, but Steve forces him to his feet.

“Finally,” he breathes out, amusement flashing across his features. “A challenge!”

Bucky regains his composure and bunts the taller man’s nose with his head. It works, and Steve eases his grip on his captive. He bends over as blood drips from his nose and he suddenly vibrates with a menacing laugh that has Bucky’s frame shaking. He looks up and doesn’t even bother wiping the blood away. “I won’t go easy on you,” he warns and gives Bucky no time to block before his fist connects with his stomach, followed by another blow to his cheek. Bucky is wondering where such speed came from when a knee connects to his lowered chest, knocking the breath out of him.

Bucky groans and clutches at his chest, coughing a little. Novel fingers sneak between the smooth strands of his hair, and then they clutch, pulling his head backward so their eyes could meet.

Bucky is overcome by anger and hatred; he knows if his friend is really inside this room then the only thing standing between him and saving Clint is this psychopathic killer. So, he glares at him. Steve doesn’t look bothered by the look at all.

“The way you look at me…” he starts, tilting his head to submerge himself in the look. “Your eyes so full of hate and scorn –it’s perfect.” His eyes light up with something definitely evil as he smirks impishly. “You’re turning me on.” At this, he palms his growing cock over the fabric while the other hand yanks harder on Bucky’s hair.

“You sick bastard!” Bucky grits out, the metallic taste inside his mouth is offering a whole range of possibilities that he doesn’t want to delve into right now. A bloody psycho getting aroused by his pain is enough of a problem. “I’ll kill you myself when I get outta here.”

Steve’s smirk widens. Bucky admits to himself that he doesn’t appreciate that sort of smirk.

“So gallant.” The woman–Miss. Potts if Bucky still remembers–gushes.

Steve licks his upper lip in a very sensual way. “See why I like my new toy?”

Bucky seizes the other’s distraction, and he forges on, butting his captor’s cheek head-on. Steve trips backward, slamming shoulder-first on the wall behind. Miss. Potts panics for a second, and she steps out of Bucky’s way. The latter glares at her, silently threatening her and apparently, she heeds his threat as she locks herself against the wall. The moment Bucky turns the key of this room, his head gets caught in something and then it slams against the wooden surface. He slides down with a whine.

“Never do things in halves.” Steve stands atop him, wiping his bloodied nose on his sleeve.

Bucky then feels himself getting forced to his feet again by the back of his collar, but with the metallic tang over his tongue and the all-over strange sensation, he knows soon he won’t be coherent enough to even fight. He probably has only a couple of hours.

“I’ll leave you to your fun.” Miss. Potts waves a lackadaisical hand before heading back the way she came. “Don’t break him too soon.”

Steve suddenly pulls Bucky as they trudge to the latter’s ‘room’. Steve then eyes the papers beside the door and keeps his comment to himself because Bucky is struggling and wrestling about. He kicks the door shut and tosses Bucky onto the bed. The latter retreats to the headboard as Steve tugs at his leg and ankles. Bucky kicks the other’s hand off but Steve isn’t having any of it as he slaps Bucky across the cheek and, much to his dismay, that’s the only attack that makes his whole body freeze.

Steve then stills and looks Bucky in the eyes. “The more you struggle, the hornier I get.” He confesses, leering like the psycho he is.

“Shut up, shut your trap!” Bucky snarls, hiding his ears with two shaky hands.

Steve’s grip on Bucky’s ankles tightens, pulling him firmly and flipping him before the captive could get a chance to elbow him in the face. Bucky’s breathing grows frantic, and he probes at the rumpled bed sheets. His eyes open impossibly wide. “Let go!” He swipes at his back because Steve has just placed his body weight on him so he wouldn’t turn. “Get off me, you sick fuck!”

“What did I say about that potty mouth of yours, huh?” Steve practically chirps, undoing his belt.

Bucky hears the zipper, and he almost lets fear seize him in its clutch. Steve can’t be thinking of… “I’ll kill you!” He wiggles as the veins pop out along his neckline. “I’ll fucking kill you if you touch me!”

Steve then captures his arms, and although Bucky pulls against him, Steve manages to tie them down with his belt.

“Untie me!” Bucky bellows, angry and scared.

“Now, why would I do that?” Steve sounds entertained, and then hot fingers are sliding onto Bucky’s scalp, kneading with such care. Steve leans into Bucky’s ear. “Do you know why I tied your hands?” He asks in a cold whisper.

“To rape me,” Bucky states in a matter-of-factly. “As expected of a psychopathic killer like you.”

“Incorrect.” Steve hums, his voice vibrates over Bucky’s back. “I’m going to  _fuck_  your brains out.”

Bucky is fleetingly under the effect of the shudder that runs down his spine without a break, but then the words sink in, and he jerks his hands to try to undo the belt. “Don’t you fucking dare, I’ll slit your throat you sick bastard!”

His sweatpants get pulled down robustly, and then he’s being lifted from his middle so that his ass is off the mattress. Bucky’s heart is skyrocketing, and he knows this isn’t going to be a fun trip. Rape isn’t supposed to be passionate, so if he can’t break free, he has to brace himself for it.

“Provided that your cherry’s never been popped, I was planning to be–” he cuts himself off with a low chuckle. “Who am I kidding, I was never gonna be nice.” Saying so, he parts Bucky’s buttocks and Bucky’s face pales, color draining from his face.

Bucky bucks back, using his strength to fight the other off. Only, Steve presses against him like a brick wall and pins him down. He spits on his other hand before he strokes his cock. But once he lines it along Bucky’s entrance, the latter panics and starts thrashing, not wanting to admit defeat although all chances seem to be against him.

So he’s going to be raped by this psychopath? He’s never had anal before. As far as his libido goes, he never really had any interest in physical contact with others. As his epilepsy became more frequent, he had to eventually forget about the idea.

Now look at him, pinned down to the bed and about to get raped by a man who relishes any signs of pain. A man who’s enjoyed watching Bucky withering in pain more than once–that pain inducer, Bucky won’t forget its effect as long as he lives.

A hand presses on the side of his face and immobilizes him as Steve pushes in, sliding in all the while, groaning under the feeling of tight heat twitching around his cock.

Bucky lets out a broken cry of agony as bolts of pain spread out from the cock tearing his flesh open. And instead of slowing down at Bucky’s apparent discomfort, Steve gets immersed in the hotness and the tightness welcoming him as he keeps thrusting. At first, the unprepared hole gives him trouble, and Steve finds difficulty, but it’s nothing more force won’t solve.

Bucky gives a garbled shout and the sensation of something liquid seeping down his thighs makes his heart sink.

Steve is enjoying the sound of his meaty balls slapping against Bucky’s ass, but he savors his pained shouts even more.

Bucky’s eyes well up from the pain. He bites his bottom lip and only focuses on breathing to distract from the pain as Steve slams into him hard and fast. It’s brutal, and if it wasn’t for the blood that’s replacing lube, that thing could have done some serious damage by now.

Steve feels bored with Bucky only breathing noisily, so he pounds him. Bucky’s head lifts off the sheets and an indignantly pained scream leaves his lunges.

“That’s more like it,” Steve rejoices, gripping Bucky’s hair and yanking the head. “Next time won’t be a ‘first’ so make sure to entertain me.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Bucky grits, his tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I’m fucking  _you_.” Steve sneers, and he grinds against the other, feeling his climax closing in.

 Bucky keens at the contact that overworks his insides, the pain is making his head light and dizzy trying to undo the ties.

 

 

The nightmare is finally over, and Steve pulls out after shooting his load inside Bucky’s hole that’s twitching now as blood and sperm spill out of the puffy entrance like lava. Bucky falls onto the sheets without a sound, finally finding relief from pain. Steve then yanks the other’s head up again by the hair only to assault his neck, sucking the skin so hard until a bruise blooms.

“You’re mine.”

Bucky registers the words with a fogged memory; every fiber in his body is throbbing. Steve then undoes the belt and leaves the bed. Bucky feels the bed bounce just lightly, and then the door creaks open and closes.

The fluorescent bulbs flicker above him, and Bucky’s fingers twitch. There’s pain in his backside and will probably stay there for more days. Bucky’s entire body is lax and unmoving, even the hard suck on his neck didn’t make him stir.

He’s heard of the rape of males before but never thought he’d be a victim of sexual violence. This whole thing sucks. Things weren’t supposed to be like this; they were supposed to be in the capital, having a blast at the concert. Peter wasn’t supposed to get blown up, and Sam wasn’t supposed to die like that. And instead of trying to save his childhood friend, he’s spreading his legs for a man who doesn’t have any humanity left in him.

Bucky nuzzles against the sheets but merely to wipe his tears since his hands are too tired to move.

What if Clint’s also being treated violently like this, getting raped and traumatized. Bucky sobs. He’s failed his friends. He’s failed himself.

The only good thing that came out of his dry ass getting fucked royally is that he now has only seconds before he passes out; thus he won’t have to seize.

 

 

 

The constant buzzing of the overhead fluorescent tubes pulls Bucky out of sweet oblivion. His eyes flutter open, and he realizes nothing has changed from his position from… he doesn’t even know what day it is, if it is night or morning.

 

He’s still lying on his chest, with one hand resting beside his face and the other beside his hip. And as he tries to move, excruciating pain shoots from his backside, he hisses sharply and stills. He knows he’d be stalling this painless state if he doesn’t move, but he feels he has legitimately had enough of pain as it is. He tries to measure it because he can feel substances he doesn’t want to name have dried on his skin and he would like to get his body rid of it. One tiny rotation of his ass and something liquid starts spilling down his inner thighs. The rage would have made him insane if it wasn’t for his hope flickering for his friends, but how dare Steve. That psycho bastard, how dare he do this?

Bucky’s never felt this humiliated before.

As he tries to sit up, snaking so he wouldn’t irritate his anus any more than it’s already been done, more piercing pain reminds him of the crime that’s taken place inside these ominous walls. His forehead falls onto the bed sheets, and he pants, hissing and gasping as the metallic-smelling liquid keeps on seeping out of his hole. “He tore me; he actually tore me.” It’s a statement spoken in a harrowed tone. “The bastard. I’ll kill him…” He clenches his fists on the sheets. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

 

The trek from his bed to the bathroom has worn Bucky out. He lands shoulder-first on the door frame and things like feelings of disgust and being a revolting defeatist start to engulf him and remind him of his priorities. Which he’s done nothing to compartmentalize–how he’s going to kill Steve and how he’s going to save his friend… he has done nothing but get humiliated–raped by a man at his age! His head feels faint at the harsh memory and bile spirals on the tip of his stomach. He fights past the feeling because his bottom half is sore and his inner thighs feel dry, he doesn’t think he can handle retching at this point.

His entire body hurts.

He doesn’t even bother drying his hair as he wobbles back to the bed and falls on it with a deep moan. Sparks of pain shoot through his body, and he folds in on himself, hating the sensation that’s making him nauseous. Although he thoroughly washed his body, every part of it still feels unclean. The worst part is that the pesky bleeding hasn’t stopped. It’s not heavy, but it’s still there as a reminder.

Several bruises are covering his body, and he guesses most of them are from him taking on his opponent in a one-sided fight, where Steve defeated him so easily that it’s laughable. The door to the room suddenly opens. Bucky tries to sit up but every fiber in him becomes taut by bolts of throbbing pain. The pungent perfume reaches Bucky before its owner does. Bucky’s stomach starts to flip-flop, and his eyes starts to widen, horrified.

The Chukka boots click-clack, approaching the bed and then finally stopping.

Bucky looks up at the silhouette of the man, his own eyes trembling. And as the other lowers his head, crouching beside the bed, that brittle smirk on his face makes Bucky’s entire body freeze.

“Turn over.”

Bucky forces his eyes shut since he doesn’t want to see the other’s face, it’d only ignite the fighting spirit in him, but he’s too weak right now for that. Besides, he was taken down so easily the previous time. Bucky isn’t sure this time would be any different.

“I can’t examine you otherwise.”

Bucky’s shoulders flinch noticeably hard, but his eyes remain closed. “Don’t touch me.”

“There’s probably some rectal bleeding,” Steve says. “You really don’t want it to get infected.”

“Who caused it in the first place?”

Steve tips his head forward. “Point taken.” He nods. “Also, if you backtalk to me again, I promise there’s going to be more than just an anal fissure.”

Bucky’s eyes open. They tremble when the first thing they see is Steve’s dark eyes so close to his. He gulps and looks away, ignoring those eyes and what possible darkness they hide. He lifts up very slowly, still hissing every time he aggravates the wounds down below.

“It’s alright, don’t lift up.” Steve adjusts his weight on his haunches. “Lie down on your stomach.”

Bucky stills for a pause before he lies down again on his side, and slowly turns over, burying his face into the pillow. He hears shuffling–probably an indication that Steve has changed his posture–and then the edge of the bed tips with the newly added weight. His guess was right.

Steve puts on his gloves and ducks slightly to look at Bucky’s face, but the latter is hiding it with the pillow.

Cold fingers probe Bucky’s inner thighs, and he wants to holler something nasty just to spite the psycho, but he knows that provoking the monster isn’t the right call at this point. He clutches the pillow’s corners and moans every time Steve stretches his butt-cheeks apart.

“Just a tear. No signs of infection.” He reports, and Bucky gladdens at the news because he thought–and judging by the scale of the pain–that something really ugly was happening down there. “There’s a little inflammation though, not that bad.”

“I just need to know if it’s gonna gum up the works.” Bucky huffs, his voice muffled by the pillow he’s still dearly hugging.

Steve leans back, taking his gloves off. “You can turn around now.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at how domineering this guy is. “Do this. Do that,” he grumbles, doing as ordered nonetheless. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”

“I kind of think it does.” Steve jokes back. “Anyway, it’s going to feel painful and itchy for the next few days, but nothing chronic so don’t worry.” He says, “I’ll bring you some ointments containing anesthetics; it’ll help reduce the pain. Also, you need rest, don’t move a lot so you won’t aggravate the wound.”

“Thanks, Doc”–Bucky gives a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes–“I don’t know what I’d have done without your examination.” He scoffs, humorlessly. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Steve’s lively face wavers, and that’s when Bucky’s blood runs cold again. After a silent–terrifyingly scary–pause, Steve rises to his feet and hides a hand in his pocket, and the other balling the gloves remains by his hip.

“So why am I still bleeding?” Bucky asks, now looking anywhere but Steve’s eyes.

“You probably grazed it while you showered,” he says, and when Bucky gives him that dejected ‘had to scrub it clean,’ he adds on a small sigh. “Your anus looks red and puffy, so you shouldn’t touch it. Leave it until the tear mends.” He turns around, heading for the front door. “I’ll be back later to bring in food and the ointments.” He pauses. “By the way, that paper plan was pretty smart, but there’s a little detail you forgot about in your little strategic scheme. I’m smarter.” He says. “I’ve added a padlock to the door, you’re not getting out of here again.”

Bucky takes a lungful and lets it out in a prolonged exhale.

 

 

 

The next two or three days go by rather quickly with Steve coming in, applying the ointment to Bucky’s anus, bringing him food, and helping him eat. The two say nothing to each other and Bucky does his best to bear with Steve probing his ass because the inflammation is ouch. But there’s this one time where he was lying on his stomach with his hands folded overhead, and Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, applying the ointment. When he was done, instead of taking his supplies and scramming, he actually lingered there, wordless; until Bucky had enough and reeled his head towards the man only to see something vague swirling in his eyes. It got him worked up, and he knew immediately that the man was plotting something that wasn’t anything good.

Steve immobilized Bucky by his shoulder blades and ignored the choosiest swear words Bucky kept throwing at him as he ducked into his neck and sank his teeth into the flesh until Bucky mewled wantonly. Steve didn’t pull back right away. He placed more of his weight on Bucky’s back and pressed his teeth deeper, groaning as Bucky whimpered at the violent ministration. Now, growing a bulge as Bucky tilted his head to allow him more space.

He pulled back just as suddenly and went about his business just like that, leaving Bucky to deal alone with the throbbing of the bloody bruise.

 

Until the following day Bucky believes it marks the u-turn of his life.

 

He wakes up startled from a traumatizing dream involving Wanda along with all the friends who were supposed to still be alive and having the time of their lives in the capital. They’d risen from a puddle of blood with their indexes pointed at him.

He scrubs a trembling hand over his eyes, willing the images to disappear. He keeps chasing after air, making his chest, that is already clammy with abundant sweat, go up and down heavily.

Suddenly, there’s a new-found feeling surging within him, something telling him that a greater power is rooting for him so he can go for it, save himself. The rectal pain has long since ebbed to a faint ache, and he’s glad he bounced back pretty fast. But that’s something he should put to use. He tears off the needle of the IV bag and holds on to it because his life–and probably his friends’ too–depends on it.

As if listening in on his inner thoughts, the keys to the padlock clank and the door creaks open. A very proud Steve saunters in, chest puffed out and hands in pockets. Bucky readies himself for the non-planned calamity.

Once Steve nears the bed, Bucky bolts forward. Steve’s reflex is as fast as Bucky expected. He latches onto him before he could scurry past him. Bucky elbows his side, and although Steve grunts at the contact, he doesn’t let go of him. He pulls Bucky by the hair and throws him onto the bed, standing over him as the bed bounces under the brunt of Bucky’s weight.

“You’re provoking me on purpose,” he grits out, now surging downward to lock his hands around Bucky’s neck. “Do you enjoy this? Do you want me to hurt you more?”

Bucky looks up at the fuming eyes and fleetingly regrets his earlier decision; but as he fights to breathe, Steve quirks a smirk that soon crescendos to an evil laugh. “This is great!” he gushes, pressing his fingers more on Bucky’s windpipe as the latter flails his arms and legs, trying to get away from his claws. “I can hurt you as much as you want.”

Bucky brings the needle then and swipes it at Steve’s face, leaving a long trail of blood from his cheekbone to his jawline. Steve’s smirk falls, and he slowly lets go of Bucky but keeps on straddling him anyway. He touches the newly-made cut. He inspects his fingers and they’re smeared with blood. He snorts, but it’s humorless. “You cut me!” He looks astounded by the revelation. “You actually cut me!”

Bucky gives a self-satisfied smirk. “Serves you right, you sick son of a bitch.”

Steve tosses his head to the back and lets out a throaty maniacal laugh; Bucky is horrified by it as he stills completely. He’s just cut the bastard’s face. There’s no accounting for what’s going to follow. He did guess a slap, a kick or a punch that would send stars over his head, but he never expected this.

The laugh falls to a chuckle eventually as he brings his eyes on Bucky’s trembling ones. He tilts his head dangerously and something wicked flashes across his face as he smirks. “My turn.”

Bucky doesn’t even get the chance to let the newsflash sink in before he gets pulled up by the collar and then punched on one side of his face: again, and again, and again. Bucky is lying on his back with both arms over his head, his nose and lips nothing but a pond of blood. His eyes roll under his lids, but nothing registers other than the dull pain all over his head. He feels his body getting dragged, but he is too disoriented to focus on what’s being done to him.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking the next two weeks off, I'll see ya'all soon.  
> Only four more chapters of this before the big plot twist, so excited!
> 
> Hope you enjoy~

 

 

 

Was he too hasty by attempting to flee again?

He knew he was no match for Steve but it’s not like his fighting skills are lacking. He frankly thought he could take on the man this time that he wasn’t in too much pain.

But boy was he wrong.

The wallops to his head have finally kicked in, and Bucky expects a full-blown seizure in a few minutes from now. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t want to seize in front of a man who would most likely jerk off at the sight than help him through it. –loud rattling brings his focus back together, and he can make out the green enamel and the fluorescent lights. He is then instantaneously tossed to the ground.

Steve stands atop him, looking at him with blank eyes that show no glint, no compassion.

Just a cold glare that makes Bucky wonders about his luck… that he was caught by someone –something like this.

The tremors traveling up-and-down his body are the first indication that his seizure is going to hit soon on full blast. He switches to sleep on his side, but Steve’s leg nudges his chest and forces him on his back again. Bucky eventually lets him have it his way because there is no way around the fact that he will end up with a concussion, a tennis ball sized bump, and a blistering migraine.

He never takes his eyes away from Steve’s though.

He knows something is messed up about that. First, he let Steve bite his neck, and fuck if he weren’t so much of a coward he’d have admitted that he, in fact, had let Steve bite him merely because he enjoyed it. Damn it, he really enjoyed it, and that was the most mind-boggling and scary thing about it. Bit by bit, he was enjoying the things Steve would do to him now and then.

He knows Steve is sedulously waiting for when Bucky will seize so he can feast his eyes and please himself, but something within Bucky, something… dark, he thinks, something that’s festered just recently is actually looking forward to this. Steve can’t get enough stimulation and pleasure from cutting into the flesh alone anymore, and Bucky’s pain is basically the only thing that gives this man a reason to go to these lengths, punish and hurt. Bucky wants to laugh out loud, but his entire body is convulsing so he can’t.

He fears what might become of him.

Steve is not human, there is no humanity left in this creature; but what if whatever that is, it’s contagious?

No, no, no…  
Bucky isn’t a cold-blooded killer. Bucky doesn’t find pleasure in people’s pain. He is nothing like Steve.

He enjoyed the bite because his body is weak to pleasure induced pain, a normal body reaction.

His pupils sink under his lids, and he loses the sense of time and place as his body stiffens and starts seizing.

 

 

  
Bucky awakes suddenly, wheezing and groaning. It’s dark, pitch black. He hears clanging and clinking, chains maybe. He tries to move his hands to assist the damage done to his face, but the movement is impeded when something pulls at his wrists. The haziness on his focus finally dissipates, and Bucky realizes he’s on his knees. His arms parted overhead.

So, wait a damn second, just what exactly happened here?

Bucky remembers being beaten to a pulp but beyond that… No, he did seize, did he not? And it most likely wasn’t a tonic-clonic judging by the level of his nausea and headache. But just before that, didn’t Steve take him to another room –lab is actually more like it? He remembers the glossy enamel floor and the white walls, it –everything was swirling inside his head, so he’s not sure. Besides, he’s still a little ‘punchy’ from being incapacitated so maybe he’s getting ahead of himself here.  
He tugs his hands to him but the restraints on his wrists, metal, he can tell, they’re pulling back against him. He can feel gritty dust scratching his toes, so he guesses the floor is overlaid with it because it feels thick.

Suddenly, the room is flooded with blinding light, and Bucky winces under its brilliance, hiding his pupils under his lids. He slowly opens then again to survey his new surroundings.

It’s a square, white-walled, green enamel-floored room, roughly twenty feet across from where he’s perched. He checks his wrists that are currently chained to two metal hooks inserted fifteen feet up to the ceiling, each on an opposite corner so that his arms are spread open over his head. There are more hooks on the wall and spider webs on the sloped corners. There’s a red settee before him. Towards the far corner of the room, there’s a faucet and a drain grid.

Echoing whistling, rhythmic enough to sound eerie, garners Bucky’s attention as he reels his head to the source.

The shiny loafers, the lab coat, and the puffed-out chest… Bucky peers at the approaching man through bleary eyes. The impassive eyes, the cold smirk and the evil countenance of the evil man, Steve Rogers, finally stands before Bucky.

“Sleeping beauty is finally up,” Steve says in that dark voice of his that, much to Bucky’s chagrin, echoes with such vividness. “’Was wondering if I had to kiss you to break the spell.”

Bucky wets the inside of his mouth that’s too dry for his liking. “What” –another swallow and an eye roll– “Where am I? What is this place?”

Steve crouches down to Bucky’s eye level, gives a small sigh before looking around at the room. “This” –he motions at their surroundings and looks back at Bucky– “is where you’re gonna live from now on.”

A deep scowl takes over Bucky’s face. Something about that newly-made scar on Steve’s face soothes his festering anger. He’s done well by scarring this man’s face.

“Used to be my personal lab but then I had them renovate the damn place,” he says, now lifting his feet and dusting off his knees. “Haven’t used it in a while, but then you’re always the exception to the rule.”

Bucky yanks the chains but they don’t give. Of course, they don’t. “So, what now?” He scoffs, clears his stuffy throat and expectorates blood on the enamel. “We’re gonna continue to play this game, kinda redundant, don’t you think?”

Steve eyes everything Bucky does, his eyes narrowing searchingly for a second before he shrugs slightly. “Yeah, I guess we are.” He says, “Until I’m bored.”

Bucky clenches his fists. “Look, man” he starts, trying a different approach this time because, obviously, violence would only cause more violence. “I don’t care if you’re a psycho who likes hearing himself talk and I don’t even care if you want to keep me here, locked up for your own entertainment, banzai for the catch.”

Steve is listening intently.

“Just,” he gulps audibly. “Please, just let my friend go.”

“Now,” Steve swings his index threateningly. “I’m impervious to what you say, but that’s such a terrific idea.”

Bucky’s face lightens up.

“But” –He says and Bucky scowls again– “I’m opinionated and dogmatic, according to you that is, right?” He glares heatedly at Bucky now. “So I’m probably the last one you want to negotiate with.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Bucky demurs. “You’re tampering with my words!”

“I beg your pardon?” Steve looks deceptively shocked. “I fed you, treated your wounds, and looked after you” he ends up barking by the last sentence, now pointing his index at his scarred face. “And this is how you repay me?”

When Bucky’s lips twitch into a tiny triumphant smirk, Steve grips his hair, yanks his head backward until Bucky can’t help, but groan. Their eyes meet and Steve’s silhouette makes him look more frightening than he already is. “Were you not listening?” he clenches harder. He tsks and suddenly frees Bucky’s hair, “Look what you’ve done,” he looks at the same hand he assaulted Bucky’s hair with. “You’ve gotten blood on me.”

Bucky scowls deeply at the man. He can say something really smartass-y right now, but he’s not ready for the consequences yet.

Steve takes out a burgundy handkerchief, and Bucky fights against picking on Steve’s girly taste. The psycho wipes his hands and places the handkerchief in the pocket of his lab coat, “I guess it’s to be expected,” he says, “I spoil you too much.”

Bucky scoffs humorlessly to that.

“That’s why,” his wicked eyes fall on Bucky’s at this. “I’ve made new rules.”

Bucky blinks to clear his vision.

“Rule number one,” he starts, “Hygiene.” He says, now undoing one of the binds on Bucky’s wrists. “You keep yourself clean,” he orders. “Keep your new home clean.”

Bucky’s hand flops to his thigh weightless. As Steve unchains the other hand, Bucky feels that instinctive need to flee this place again and he tries to suppress it with all the power he has left. Steve walks to the left side and comes with a metal bucket and a crummy looking sponge, which Bucky didn’t notice before. He tosses them at his captive’s knees until they clang, and then he thrusts his hands into his pockets.

“You’re joking, right?” Bucky snorts at the absurdity of the situation.

Steve eyes him impassively, “I want the place spotless.”

Okay, so let Bucky get this straight. He’s spent God knew how long sedated, in pain and raped in that room, and now that he finally changed airs –not that it’s five stars with a view– but Steve is suddenly asking him to vacuum?

Where does he get the nerves?

Steve gives that impatient sigh, now crouching before Bucky. “Look, you can’t keep disobeying me. If I tell you to do something, you do it, okay?” saying so, he brings his fingers and brushes Bucky’s recent hickey, barely ghosting over the bruised skin. “I don’t wanna hurt you, Bucky–” He suddenly snorts on a snicker. “Actually I do,”

Bucky recoils slightly from the fingers, terror seizing him.

“But you know, don’t speed things up.” Steve brings his hands back to his pockets as he levers up to his feet. “Follow the rules, is all I’m saying.” He puffs out his muscled chest. “But be a smartass again, and your friend buys the farm.”

At the mention of his friend, Bucky loses all his composure. “Why can’t I see him?” he demands. “You’ve promising me things, but you don’t keep your word either.” He says, “You’ve had your fun with me man. Just let us go already. We won’t rat on you. We’ll forget everything happened and never speak of this to a soul, huh, what’re ya think?”

Steve’s lips twitch and furl, but quickly loosen. His face is set in hard lines as he gives the other a pointed stare.

“I don’t think I want to hear you talk anymore Bucky.”

Bucky’s mouth is suddenly cupped by one of Steve’s palms. He fumbles through his pockets for something; Bucky makes sure he goes down fighting as he squirms and scratches the other. Steve's hand finally comes out with a leather mouth gag, and he doesn’t waste any second as he wraps it around Bucky’s face and thrusts the stuffy part into his injured mouth. The latter shakes his head to stop Steve from clipping the damn suffocating gag, but Steve tightens the grip of the straps and does the buckle. He totters to the back after the effort and squares his shoulder, now eying his handiwork.

Bucky is still kneeling on the floor. His hands probing the buckle in the back of his head and his eyes are glaring up at his captor.

“I’ll take it off when you’ve learned how to show some respect.” he starts. “You see, people are too engrossed, and you’re no different. A lot of things you take for granted are actually privileges.” He says, “And for you to learn that, you have to follow the rules. The more rules you follow, the better you are, the better you are, the more privileges you earn.”

Bucky takes in a shaky breath and lets his hands fall beside his hips.

“Plain and simple.” Steve comments on a faint shrug, “Nothing too complicated, right?”

Bucky lowers his gaze. He stares wide-eyed somewhere over his lap, and Steve has to crook his head to look at Bucky’s face. “Rules, Bucky.” He sings-songs, “remember what rule number one was?”

Bucky is doing a mental check on the possible odds that might follow with him taking the gag off and hitting Steve’s head with the metal bucket. He knows the plan might work, and he might actually succeed at taking the other down, but he has no recollection of his seizure, and Steve hasn’t mentioned anything about anticonvulsant. So, how is he going to be sure it’s going to go according to plan? He might seize in the next few minutes, and he will have no power to make it stop.  
Steve scratches his nape and breathes out of his nose. “Rule number one, Buck, come on.”

Bucky can suddenly hear a slight degree of impatience creeping in the other’s voice, so he snaps out of his thoughts and tries to remember what rule number one was. He eyes the bucket and the sponge, and suddenly it sinks in.

Hygiene.

He slowly reaches for the bucket and the sponge, grips it in his lean hand and stares up at Steve who chuckles softly. He ignores the man who, by the looks of it, is having so much fun, and he tries to stand up on his two shaky legs. He manages a couple of steps before he falls, shoulder-first, on the wall. Thankfully, the spigot is just a couple of meters ahead so he rejoices because, true, he didn’t except this before, but he is so disoriented and queasy.

He fills up the bucket to the half and returns to where Steve is standing.

“A quick learner, aren’t you?”

Bucky looks irritably at him before he drops to his knees, feeling the cold floor. Steve shows some audacity by walking out of his way to sit on the settee, arms outstretched on the headrest and legs crossing on one another. Bucky dips the sponge into the cold water. He wrings it out and starts mopping the blood off the floor.

Steve watches intently as the blood on the floor dilutes under Bucky’s throughout cleansing. His dark eyes follow the movement, and when Bucky glances swiftly at him, there’s no particular emotion on that empty face. Their eyes meet on the fly, making Bucky’s entire body shudder. He quickly looks at the area he’s scrubbing, and he licks his lips, ready to exchange a few words with this monster because the boredom is going to drive him insane faster than the psycho.

He unbuckles the straps and holds on to the mouth gag, just in case Steve flips. “So what’s your deal?” Bucky starts, one shoulder taut because he’s leaning on it and the other is rocking back and forth as he scrubs the floor with the sponge, the damn blood stains aren’t going away. “’Seems like you have all the time in the world since you’re spending most of your time in than you do out.”

Steve is silent for the next few seconds before he sags back on the headrest with a little sigh. He props his elbow on the armrest and leans on his knuckles, “I remember saying I didn’t like to hear you talk anymore.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Any of it sinking in?”

“Humor me.” Bucky grits out.

“Tell me,” he starts, “Did you like it when I raped you?”

Bucky stills, and he can tell his eyes are widening with shock.

“I didn’t ask you to stop.” Steve’s reminder is spoken in a soft tone, but Bucky’s stomach does a vigorous somersault at its brunt. When he resumes the scrubbing, Steve continues, “So, did you like it?”

Bucky stifles in his anger, but it’s no use when his fingers are getting colder and number, irritating him some more. “Nobody enjoys getting fucked in the ass, especially on the dry.”

“So your argument is,” Steve drawls, “If it weren’t on the dry, you’d have enjoyed it?” he scoffs, “that’s plausible.”

Bucky throws the sponge into the bucket until water droplets bounce everywhere. He turns around, still squatting on the floor. His glare hardens, and his jaw clenches. “You seem like you’ve made quite the habit of tampering with everything I say,” He breathes out, accusingly. “I didn’t like it; I didn’t like you shoving your dick up my ass. I didn’t like it on the dry, but I won’t necessary like it on a lube either.” He says, “It was disgusting and painful,” the burning look in his eyes doesn’t waver. “I’ll kill you if you lay your hands on me again.”

Steve’s poker-face breaks into a predatory, cold and chilling smirk. And Bucky isn’t that slow, he knows he’s just played into Steve’s hands, and although he’d rather take all of it back, he knows he can’t. And Steve has just gotten his hands on valuable information. Inside Steve’s brain, probably any talk which doesn’t involve pain gets sieved out, and the only thing repeating inside his head is ‘it was painful.’

He regrets opening his mouth and yapping; he regrets it pretty fucking bad.

“Put the gag back on.” He orders, his voice gentle.

Gentle means trouble is coming; Bucky can read him loud and clear now, most of his sick traits anyways. And he knows better than to disobey; he’s done enough by taking the gag off and spilling his heart to any old Joe blow enough to provoke his abductor. He puts the gag back on and does the buckle, but since Steve is keeping his eyes on him, he tightens the straps enough to leave a mark. He hates the feeling of his mouth being stuffed with leather, but he bears with it so long his head isn’t getting bashed with anything.

Steve puts the chains back on each of Bucky’s wrists; he yanks them to see if they give, they don’t. He eyes the floor and the areas Bucky washed, and then he beams, “that’s a good boy.” And just as Bucky’s body collapses with relief, Steve’s loafer shoots forward and collides with his chest, knocking the breath out of him. Bucky whimpers and doubles over, feeling Steve’s hand ruffling his hair. The fucker, he’s pushing his luck here. The pain feels like a fire eating gasoline as his chest burns. He wheezes to tell the damage apart, bruised ribs, nothing broken. But that’s uncalled for. Isn’t Steve pleased with his work or what, exactly?

“If you keep me waiting so fucking long again,” Steve starts, still beaming manically. “I’ll have you clean the entire room with your tongue.” Saying so, he walks to the door, opens it, and leaves.

The lights go off again, and Bucky is left to nurse his new injury.

 

It’s an astonishing pain that drags Bucky right out of his harmless dream. He doesn’t want to wake up, at least for now. He wants to go back to those trivial chitchats with his family around the dinner table, the hot soup, and the warm house. But he knows he can’t.

 

He blinks a few times; the unrelenting darkness proves him it’s not a choice of his. It’s something forced on him, just like how many other things became shackles on him as of late. His shoulders are sore, his ribs too, he is cold, hungry, and his mouth is gagged. He knows his body can only handle so much. It’s a race against time as of now before his body shuts down on itself, not wanting any of this anymore. Not the pain, not the helpless feeling and certainly not the upheaval which rises every time Steve is around.

First things first though, he has to assist the recent damage done to his ribs. He’d have been too hasty with his examination before. He is not coughing up blood. Bucky sighs because it’s a good sign since the threat of a punctured lung seems to have been avoided. He takes a deep breath but feels stinging pain below his rib-cage, so it’s probably just a bruise. A nasty one at that but he’ll manage.

The lights stream through the morbid dread of darkness, blinding Bucky with the resultant radiance. He lowers his head and slowly opens his eyes, helping them adapt to the surge of light. The door rattles open, and Steve walks in, wearing a brown knee-length coat over a dress shirt. There’s something like a bowl in his hand, and that haughty smirk hasn’t worn off. He stands motionless once he reaches Bucky, only eyeing him fixedly.

“Hungry, Bucky?”

Said male looks at his captor through slanted eyes before he looks away, nauseated at the sight of evil within Steve’s.

“Ignoring me?”

Bucky winces inwardly because nothing good ever happens after Steve uses that questioning tone.

Steve crouches beside Bucky. He puts the bowl down and un-clips the gag. Bucky feels immense relief that his jaw isn’t parted anymore, drool spills down his jaw but he’s been through worse. He can handle this.

“Let’s try again,” Steve says in his deep voice, “You hungry?”

Bucky’s eyes flick towards the contents of the bowl, a meager quantity of fried rice. His stomach growls at the smell, giving him away. Bucky finds no other option but to admit the facts because he’s not hungry, he’s starving, any food will do. He nods after his eyes glance back at Steve’s.

The latter gives a brittle smirk, “Asked you a question, Buck.” He reminds, “It’s rude not to answer.”

Bucky would elbow the bastard in the eye if he could. He knows there’s no way around the fact that he has to utter words, not of spite, but to keep the monster entertained. “Yes.”

Steve scoffs. “Now”, he starts. “Is that any way to ask for food?”

Bucky bears with it for the sake of food, “I’m hungry.” He says through gritted teeth. “Give me food.”

Steve shakes his head, feigning disappointment, “I guess you don’t want it after all.” He levers up to his feet and makes to leave. Bucky reaches for him with his body until the chains jingle.

“Wait!” He calls out, and when Steve pauses mid-stride and turns around, that fucking expectant look on his face making him look like a child. Bucky gulps his anger and stares upon the enamel floor, “Please…”

Steve cocks his head. “What was that?”

Bucky clenches his fists, “I’m really hungry. Can I eat the rice, please?”

Steve plunges his hands into his pockets and lets out a rather contented sigh, “That’s another thing you took for granted.” He says, “Which reminds me of the second rule.”

Bucky hardens his glare at the man.

“Gratitude.” He says with a creepy smile. “You gotta show some gratitude for the things I do for you.”

Bucky lets out an abrupt chuckle, “Does that mean I should thank you for hurting me as well?” he scoffs, “For killing my friends?”

Steve only keeps that creepy smile on and then he leaves altogether. Bucky’s eyes are fixated on the door, wondering if Steve leaving without a word is a good thing or not, or if he’s just sentenced his friend and himself to certain death. The lights don’t go out this time, and when nothing else happens. Bucky finally musters the courage to look away from the door and onto the bowl of rice before him. His face is slowly coated crimson with humiliation, he even went and begged.

 

 

Some undetermined time later, the door opens again, and Steve walks in, still smiling creepily. Bucky examines the man’s hands, if they’re holding something and he feels slight relief when he finds nothing. Steve then stops when he reaches the settee his eyes peering down at his captive.

“You’ve got too much damn time on your hands,” Bucky glances at the man after wetting his lips. “Doc.”

Steve ducks his head with a tiny side smile on his lips, he lifts the bowl and after he locks eyes with Bucky. He spills the contents of the bowl onto the enamel.  
“Screwing with my mind, is that it?” Bucky huffs, his irises momentarily hiding under his lids.

“No,” Steve denies, “Screwing with your stomach.”

Bucky gulps. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Am I?” Steve dares with false curiosity. “Last I checked, humans can’t go on without food, you might still act stubborn, say, ten days from now?” he says, “but what about two weeks from now? Three?”

Bucky gives an arrogant chuckle, “And you honestly think I’d stay here for that long?”

“You think you can check out?” Steve scoffs, his eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. “Well, I’d like to see you try.”

Bucky’s features draw into a scowl. “I’m going home,” he says, defiantly. “Right after I slit your throat.”

Steve furrows. “But what to do,” he says. “I already decided to inflict unimaginable pain on you before you turn back and bite.”

Bucky’s eyes widen at the news.

“It’s probably why you’ll need that food,” he says, flippantly, “to keep in shape.”

“Touch me, and I’ll kill you.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

Bucky grits his teeth because he currently has no comebacks for that. He’s been promising to finish the man off for a while now, but Steve still managed to have his fun with him in his own sick, twisted way.

Steve gives a conceited hum, “That’s what I thought.”

There’s silence for a moment –the silence before a storm. Bucky doesn’t want to dive into reading the little twitches in the nuances of Steve’s face, trying to gauge up what possible mood he’d be wallowing in, but the silence is almost eerie for Bucky to be chilling back. Steve then, and very slowly, slides his hand into the chest pocket of his coat, and it comes out holding a syringe. Bucky’s heart drops to his stomach.

“You remember your old pal, Bucky?”

Said male’s fists clench impossibly hard. It can’t be, it just can’t. He starts pulling against the chains, wanting to flee away at any cost because any torture is better than the pain inducer. “No” he growls crossly, “No!”

Steve pets Bucky’s head, kneading through the tousled strands. “Easy” he breathes out, now pulling Bucky’s head to his chest, burying his face into the crook of his neck. “Easy.”

Bucky squirms more, his panting growing frantic, “No, please, not that.” His voice cracks, “Steve.”

The latter shushes him with the gentleness of a mother, “You left me no choice, Bucky.” He whispers on the crown of said man’s head. “I have to do this, don’t fight it,” he commands, his voice shockingly soothing. “Don’t make me hurt you more.”

Bucky’s heart is erratic at this rate, waging an impending full-fledged hyperventilation, “No one’s making you do anything.” Bucky practically wails, “Steve, please… please, anything but this.”

Silence sips in for a second before any of them speaks again.

“Anything?” Steve asks, the smirk he’s wearing coming through in his voice.

Bucky cringes, if he gives in this one time, everything he’s worked for to maintain his pride will keel over and crumble down, but he doesn’t want another shot of that pain inducer. He doesn’t want to feel that ever again, but he doesn’t want to yield to this heartless monster for a man either.

“Bucky?” Steve urges. His deep voice and savory scent making Bucky fleetingly undecided, but he knows he has only fragments of a second to savor the fleeting sense of sanctuary before Steve spurts out his fangs at him and snatch whatever this is from right under him. He nods, it’s slow, tentative and he hates himself for this.

Steve chuckles darkly on Bucky’s hair; the sound is reverberating through Bucky with such animosity, ridiculing him for all the misfortunes he’s just signed up for with his full awareness. “But, Bucky” Steve starts, “Why’d you assume I’d care what you want?”

Bucky wrenches himself from the impermanent shelter, his eyes horrified.

Steve’s eyes are a pair of dead pupils that show blatant impassiveness. The syringe penetrates Bucky’s neck and he feels its nib pricking him, he hisses and repels himself backward.

“You…” He groans, “You sick bastard…”

"So I've been told." Steve says with a grin, his hand coming up to run softly through Bucky's hair.

The feeling is anyway different from what he experienced before. This almost feels like a cold numbness wiggling its way throughout his body.

And bit by bit, darkness engulfs him whole.

 

*******

 

Bucky awakes at the sensation of something cold cricking his nipples. He lets out a mewl through his gagged mouth before he can see just whose novel hand is probing him. But recent events have entrenched only one possibility for that, so before even opening his eyes, he knows it’s Steve, plotting for something bizarre again.

“’Back from the land of the dead?”

At this, Bucky’s heavy lids part open, still a slit though. His pupils roam unfocused before they settle on the man sitting on the settee as though it’s his legitimate throne, eyeing Bucky’s body with intense hanger. The latter’s entire body stiffens as a shudder runs through him.

“You’ve been out of it for a couple of days now,” he says, “I was starting to worry.”

Leave it to the gag to keep him from coming up with a good comeback for that.

“As you can see,” Steve chats on, “I’ve taken the initiative to do something for you because you were a good boy, you cleaned the floor,” he says, “Good boys deserve a treat.”

Bucky frowns for an explanation.

“Although it’s a little imposing on your privacy, I’ve cleaned you up, thoroughly,” he enunciates it for emphasis, “Shaved your ugly stubble as well.” He reports, “You won’t be needing clothes from now on, I got rid of them.”

Bucky eyes himself, and he’s shocked to see not only is he naked, but there’s some sort of a silver collar on his neck that is connected to a chain. The chain parts halfway and each end is clipped to his nipples with a clamp. It’s probably what caused the cricking feeling earlier.

Steve twines his fingers together and adopts that smoky tone of voice again, “Remember what you said before I sedated you?”

Bucky can’t exactly answer even if he wanted to because there’s a gag in his mouth.

“Anything,” Steve sing-songs, “You said anything was better, thus, you’ve given me your total permission to do anything I want with you –not that I needed it, but it helps you feel like this is consensual, so to speak.” He says, “I’m willing to forgive all your misbehavior, give you a second chance, more or less, all you need to do is kneel and part your legs shoulder length.”

Bucky’s eyes widen at that.

“Or,” Steve lifts an index, “I can resort to violence again, what with me using my trump card of harming your friend and we both know I’ll get what I want with that, it’s easier, but not really that fun.”

Just what is he trying to accomplish with such a senseless argument, really?  
Bucky doesn’t understand the need for the nipple clamps. Steve has that sadistic streak, but he never thought it’d be easily labeled, what with Steve resorting to slave collars and –wait a damn second. Does this make Bucky a slave? Or better yet, does Steve think that he can enslave Bucky, and the BDSM toys would give it a realistic meaning?

“I don’t really need words,” Steve speaks again, “Just part your knees if you aren’t apt for more violence, personally, I just want to have a little fun for now. I’ve had a pretty crappy day and raping you sounds like it’d sate my anger.”

He’s angry?

Bucky has thought that Steve’s anger came in the spurts of unrelenting violence. Never once did he stop to think that the violent Steve is actually Steve in a merry mood. This new version of Steve tells him that the man is not just angry, he is livid. And if Bucky lets this man head to his friend’s, Clint might as well end up dead, gorily so, and Steve wouldn’t even bat an eye.  
He’s never thought it’d come to this; actually, he kind of did before he was even raped, but living it like this it sort of changes his entire point of view. Being stripped of his pride and dignity like this, literally, it brings about a whole sensation, that of hopelessness and misery. To have a man –a psycho, no less– strip him down and order him around as though he’s his whore. The anger swirling down Bucky’s stomach is about to erupt. He knows that as long as Steve has that trump card up his sleeve, he won’t be able even to put up a fight. No, maybe, wallowing in this bottomless hatred will ignite that fire for revenge all over again and he won’t crumble under the despair.

And as Steve sits there, legs crossed with his cheek propped on a hand’s knuckles, Bucky demurs, but eventually and very slowly parts his knees. The sickening clanking of chains adhered to the hooks is making him feel revolted. His eyes wander about the lab before settling back on Steve’s nocuous eyes that are eating him up without shame. He suddenly uncrosses his long legs and levers up to his feet. Bucky, wide-eyed and horror-stricken, he stares at the other as he approaches him, heavy footfalls echo in the vacant room. He comes to a halt when he’s a feather-length away, his hip level to Bucky’s face. The latter looks up, feeling the metal collar tickling his nape when he does, but he ignores it in favor of being vigilant or pretending to be, anyway.

Steve only stands there, wordless. Suddenly, his right hand comes up, ghosts over Bucky’s cheek. His cold fingertips that make him shudder but not completely recoil.  
“Such luscious lips, even if scarred” –he thumbs said lips slightly– “Feline eyes” –ghosts both thumbs now over said eyes–“porcelain skin.” He almost moans at the feeling of smooth skin under his touch.

Bucky’s brows are gradually furrowing, having someone as psychotic as Steve boss you around wasn’t much of a blow to his nuts, but he has to listen to the same twisted man admiring his good body traits and even cop a feel. He gasps abruptly when fingers knead through his recently washed ear-length hair.

“Our relationship is growing rather stagnant, wouldn’t you say?” Steve asks in undertone.

Relationship?

Steve calls this a ‘relationship’?

Bucky wants to laugh his head off at the term, mock Steve for his poor interpretation, even the ‘be-my-toy’ script is far better than labeling this as something that only normal people should have.

“I reckon you feel the same,” Steve notes out, conversationally. His right hand now working the fingers into Bucky’s already gagged mouth. As the latter squirms, hating the added stuffing making it difficult to breathe, Steve speaks on, “You’ve been tucked away into your new home, kept to nurse your craving for normalcy, for a human touch.”  
Bucky’s squirming stops and he looks up, meeting Steve’s wicked eyes that are… they are looking back at him, but there’s something within, something utterly new that should not be there.

There is kindness.

“I’m not raving to win you over by the way,” he says, “I’ve concluded you have the potential to be entertaining, that’s all.”

Steve isn’t making any sense now, Bucky concludes.

 

 

 

 

 

AN: A sample of a steel neck collar with nipple clamps [here](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB14mIiLXXXXXcZXFXXq6xXFXXX2/Dia-140mm-350g-male-stainless-steel-Neck-Slave-font-b-Collar-b-font-nipple-clamps-clips.jpg)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic depictions of flogging.

 

 

There’s something different today, something that can have disastrous consequences. He thinks something that has the ability to ruin his resolve.

Steve uses his other unoccupied hand to unclip the gag, pull it and toss it aside until copious saliva splatter across the area on the floor it fell. Drool spills down Bucky’s jaw as he regains relief from having something as annoying as a gag stuffed into his mouth for hours.

He chuckles when he feels fingers still lingering in his hair, “Now, even Shakespeare would bow to that,” he smirks at the other, “I almost dropped a tear.”

Those fingers in his hair massage the scalp sensually, grazing the ear tips and the head crown, pulling and pressing, just like a lover’s kiss, they suddenly stop. “Those fatuous comments of yours will be the death of you someday.”

“And when’s that?” Bucky dares. Deep within, he knows grating on Steve’s nerves, especially when he is ‘angry’, is basically spoiling for a disaster, but it’s like a pull that you can’t resist no matter what. Steve isn’t as busy as to deny him that.

“How about we put that potty mouth of yours to use?” Steve hums, impatience creeping into his voice, “Open your mouth.”

“As inviting as it sounds,” Bucky begins, “But no thanks, I’ll decline the offer.”

Loud ringing goes off in Bucky’s left ear, followed by a stinging pain in his cheek, and he soon realizes he’s just been slapped.

“You still think you get to downturn an order?” Steve huffs, his thick brows meeting across his marred forehead, “Open your mouth.”

Bucky hardens his glare as though it’d daunt Steve into releasing him along with his friends, as though it’d define how odious this treatment is.

Steve lifts his hand again and it comes down fast, and hard, landing on Bucky’s cheek again. The latter’s head is jerked, looking elsewhere. “Don’t make me repeat myself again, Bucky.” He threatens, looking intimidating enough to actually scare an unmoving sculpture.

“You’ve had a crappy day at work,” Bucky’s voice is low, anger evident in it, “So what, you just come in here to fuck up mine?” He chides, eyes glaring fumingly at the other now. “Well, here’s a newsflash for you bud,” he snorts, “You and your orders can suck my dick.”

“Actually,” Steve brightens up with a creepy smirk, “You are.” Saying so, he unzips his fly and his cock springs free, hard and veiny. Bucky did miss the bulge but merely because he was more frightened by evil eyes making him feel uncanny about everything. “If you bite it, or as much as graze it with your teeth,” Steve warns. “I’ll head to the room at the end of the hall and shoot your friend right in the pelvis, won’t even look back as I leave him there as he is slowly dying such a painful death.”

Bucky quickly parts his lips open, not wanting to hear any threats concerning his friend. Besides, if a blowjob is all this sick bastard wants, then so be it. Bucky is only doing this to keep his friend safe, he isn’t doing this because Steve ordered him to. This is something that gifts him with more self-respect; he’d lost it in him before, hated being reduced to a means of sexual frustration relief. But he thinks he is doing quite alright by taking on this man’s demand to save Clint.

Steve, completely oblivious to the anger rifling through his captive, he plunges his cock into the open mouth, sighing at the welcoming heat.

Bucky tries to run from this by closing his eyes so tightly that rainbow colors explode in his vision. So, because this is forced on him, Bucky promises to act just like it, keep his lips parted and bear with it until Steve’s had enough. But, apparently, the man has no plan of doing this one-sidedly. As he thrusts into the hot, wet mouth, he tugs at the nipple clamps, making Bucky mewl again at the cricking pull. The vibrating down his throat makes Steve groan. Well, one thing for sure, Bucky understands the need for the nipple clamps now.  
Steve’s hands clutch at Bucky’s brown hair from both sides, tugging at it as he thrusts into Bucky’s mouth like a dog humping a couch. Bucky feels like death in the woods by a maniac bowman would have been a lot more merciful than this. At least he would end up dead, not raped from the upper end.

God, he can’t breathe. He feels Steve’s dick reaching all the way to his throat, plugging it and keeping air from passing through. And the harder he yanks the chains, the more miserable he feels. Steve keeps poking at the nipple clamps, groaning every time Bucky moans because the inside vibration tickles the crown of his cock.

Bucky feels hot liquid touching the back of his tongue, he knows what it is, but he won’t even give it as much as a thought. It’d only wound his manhood otherwise.  
When Steve approaches climax, at fucking last, he draws his cock out of Bucky’s mouth and spurts his cum on the swollen lips instead; the proclaim skin of his face and neck and chest, and the long lashes of the feline eyes. Bucky’s eyes water, all the tears that want to roll down his face, for being submitted to such humiliation.

“As much as I’d love to see you swallow,” Steve quirks a grin, “But I’d hate to be left with the trouble of looking after your stomachache.” Saying so, he tucks his cock back beneath his underwear and adjusts the fly. “Now, can you tell me what you learned from that?”

Bucky scoffs without a single trace of a smile, “That you need help?”

“A facetious remark, indeed.” Steve’s grin is still radiant as he walks back to the settee, picks out something that Bucky miserably failed to notice earlier and he moves forward again, only this time, he sidesteps Bucky who is intermittently coughing. “Obedience, Bucky, you need to start learning some obedience.”

At that, Bucky hears a deep whoosh in the air before something cold collides with his back, and he screams as pain spreads through him. Another whoosh and Bucky’s entire body jerks, the chains rattle ominously, reminding him, time and again, that there could be no escape from this. He screams again when the single-tailed whip latches and strikes his back. He knows it’s going to leave him with nasty welts across his back, and the nasty contusion in his chest hasn’t gone away either. He doesn’t know how he stifles in the scream the next time the whip leaves a mark on him, telling a story of how painful it’s been. But it works on Steve’s nerves as he adds more force to his strikes. This time, the welts start to bleed.  
By the time Steve throws the whip away, splattering blood as it spins in the air, Bucky is still and silent. Steve, at least, has the good grace to show little mercy by unchaining Bucky’s wrists and letting him fall to the cold enamel with a thump that just signifies he’s out like a light.

 

 

*******

 

 

How many days have already passed with Bucky waking up to a different pain each day?

Is it night, or is it day?

He can’t tell anymore. He wasn’t even able to ever since he was brought in here, confined to the unrelenting darkness, bound by shackles and robbed of his freedom to fight.

He is hungry, so very hungry. Maybe he’ll die here of malnutrition and dehydration. Maybe hypothermia will finally set in, and he’ll die a slow death.

Bucky, as he lies there assuming a fetal position, he begins to wonder just for what reason was he brought to life in the first place, really, if suffering is all he has ever known. A part of his brain does understand that he is currently delirious from the pain radiating from his back. The exceedingly cold enamel helps lessen the throbbing a little bit. Getting humiliated like that –Bucky grits his teeth as his bleary eyes water more– reduced to nothing but a human toilet, a cum dump…

The dried blood on his back is an account of the lashing he took a few hours ago; the cum tainting his body and more, his soul.

He wonders if he can take any more of this, if he will finally break and doom himself and his friend.

He turns around very slowly, groaning when he moves wrong and jars his bruised welts, the whip marks, the evidence of getting physically abused. Does Steve care? Yes, might happen when hell freeze over. But maybe, that might be overturned if Bucky does something for Steve of his own accord, follow the rules, for example. It’s true he is practically blind with no single light speck seeping into the room, but Bucky relies on his hands to detect any signs of dirt. He finds more than he bargained for. Luckily, he still remembers the direction of the faucet and the drain grid. He works his way to the far corner of the room, hears the double chains of his collar cling in sync. He probes the floor and the wall for the said faucet. His hands suddenly hit something metal that clunks when it tips over and something squishy falls. He rejoices for having found the bucket and the sponge with which he can clean the floor.

 

After he finishes scrubbing the floor which has taken all his energy, he goes back to the faucet and washes away the crisp substance from his hair. Although it freezes his sore nipples and stings his back, Bucky continues to wash his body as well.

With this, Steve will be satisfied, and he might give him some food.

Thankfully, when he returns to his corner, the enamel has long since dried as though the underneath cement has sucked the water dry. He rubs the area he is going to sit on, vehement in his action. When he feels it a little hot, he sits, absorbing faint warmth with such a childish delight.

The blinding lights return, and Bucky straightens up, red-rimmed eyes wide and expectant.

Steve walks in with a small white box in his hand, hard soles hitting the enamel, echoing across the room along with the same eerie whistling. He then is standing before Bucky, tall and menacing. But he is sneering this time; it makes Bucky wonder what kind of sick play he has planned for today.

“Wow, Bucky!” Steve begins, gushing on with genuine approval. “Look at the place, look at you!”

Bucky’s eyelids flutter for a moment before he nods, tentatively as it may seem.

Steve crouches beside the other on his haunches, puts the box aside and sighs after a quick once over at his captive, “You’ve done really well.” Saying so, he dispenses a gentle pat on Bucky’s head.

Bucky, still shivering from the cold water, crumbles under the warm hand that is now palming his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans on the hand, some warmth that momentarily gifts him with the illusion that he’s back home again, safe. He lets out a shaky breath, and he clings to that hand, seeking more warmth. Suddenly, realization hits him like a slap and his eyes snap open wide. He finds Steve’s face near his, that same kindness he’s seen before is deep within those usually disdainful eyes, and it terrifies him more than anything else. He recoils from that warm hand, favoring the cold touch of enamel and freezing water over anything Steve has to offer.

Steve retreats his hand and shrugs, “You deserve a treat for being a good boy,” he says, “tell me what you wanna eat.”

“Anything…?” Bucky requires, doubtful by his tone.

Steve smiles, “Anything.”

After Steve types down the food Bucky has just listed on his phone, he faces Bucky, “anything else?”

Bucky is happy that this is paying off well for him, and he knows if he keeps on this act, he can get all he wants. But instead of doing just that, he goes against his own plan and resigns to showing his own fake subjugation to the rules. “I’m very grateful for the kindness you have shown me.”

Steve’s face brightens up, “Wayhe, he learns!”

Bucky nods.

“You definitely deserve a treat for that too,” he gushes, “Although that’s hardly obedient, Buck” he smirks, “but compliance and obedience are two sides of the same coin.”

Bucky gulps audibly at the fear of his reward getting invalidated.

“Points for trying,” Steve cocks his head a little, “You have certainly improved.” Saying so, he types more on the contraption before he puts it back in his pocket. “So, as we wait for your treats to come,” he starts, “How about you let me take a look at your back.”

Bucky immediately complies, shifting a little so that his back is in plain sight.

Upon examining his back, Steve makes a soft noise, too indistinct for Bucky to distinguish. “That looks nasty,” he comments. Bucky bites back his own retort, instead, he grimaces in preemptive guilt. “Courtesy of you endeavoring to grate on my nerves earlier, ironic, isn’t it?”

At that, Bucky feels the tender touch of cotton dipped in something a little cold touching his burning skin, he hisses at the stinging but otherwise remains silent.

“You’re awfully docile today, silent too.” Steve notes out with his hand stilling, and that’s when Bucky’s thoughts and emotions run off-kilter. Has he been wrong adopting this sort of reticent behavior? Could it be Steve isn’t very approving of the idea of Bucky on not commenting on the things he says? Well, certainly, he almost sentenced himself to death the couple of times he went ahead and provided his levity on a silver platter, which leaves Bucky with no explanation really. Steve’s hand resumes its ministration, and Bucky sighs out a sigh of relief. “Well, that taciturn demeanor certainly doesn’t suit you.”

“How would you like me to be then, Mr. Rogers?”

“My, my” Steve barks a brief and fruity laugh, “Let’s dispense with formalities, shall we?” he grins, “but you have, indeed, improved.”

“All thanks to you.” Bucky says in a monotone, and he tsks because he is certain there’s something in the voice he has just conducted that has had him busted.

Steve tucks the cotton into a small plastic pack and back into the small box. “Don’t wash your welts again. It might result in an infection. Although the pain might be unbearable at first, but I’ll give you something to relief it, understand?”

Bucky nods, “clearly.”

“Now,” he starts, tagging closer to Bucky, who starts to freak out at the fact that Steve is creeping up on him, pressing against his back until pain shoots through him again. Bucky can’t help but press up against the wall to fight his instinctive drive to flee through an open door. “I recall telling you to show more spirit into it,” he grits out, hot breath fanning Bucky’s nape. More shuffling and Steve’s entire body warmth engulfs Bucky. He lets out a small sigh that is too vague for Steve to describe. “Using that honeyed voice on me, what do you take me for?”

Bucky’s hands clutch at the wall in two fists, bracing for the oncoming torture. He can hear his breathing labored and his heartbeats erratic. Yet he knows there is no escape from it.

In an impulsive second, Bucky feels a pair of soft lips on the back of his neck, ghosting over his skin and toying with the steel collar.

“Your body,” Steve whispers in a silvery voice that makes Bucky’s entire body quiver with something, dare he say, exciting. “I need only think of it, and I’m hard again.”

It pokes Bucky’s butt, a telltale bulge of a poorly concealed erection.

Steve resumes nibbling at Bucky’s neck, pecking soft kisses and purring every time Bucky as much as stirs. The latter is, with all honestly, fighting to not react, but his treacherous body is already falling under a spell, what with him sighing very deeply with his eyes closed. He supports his forehead on the wall, hoping the cold would heal his feverish body that is certainly not hot as a result of his recent bruises. When Steve licks behind one of his ears, very slowly that soft wet noise reverberate into his ear, Bucky lets out a prolonged moan. The cock poking him from behind is increasing in volume, and Bucky wonders if it’s such a good idea to excite Steve like that.

“You’re probably unaware of it,” Steve chuckles in his deep voice, “but you have been pressing back against my boner for a while now.”

Bucky’s eyes shoot open at the impossible revelation, and he tries to reel around, but Steve has probably predicted a reaction like that. He is shoving him against the wall again.

“Not so fast, tiger.” Steve intones through a smirk, “not until I have my fun with you first.”

Bucky bears with it with all his might. He knows one wrong word and all this can go downhill, fast. He is not ready to sacrifice so much knowing his friends might be the victim of his recklessness.

He will continue to bear with it.

Steve’s tongue runs over the recently bruised skin of Bucky’s back, and the latter whimpers at the stinging throb the action results. His fists tighten on both sides of his head as he remains there, supporting himself by the wall before he falls over.

“Bucky,” Steve calls out in a breathy voice, “up on your knees,” he orders, “support your weight on the wall.”

And Bucky, casting shame and embarrassment aside, he abides.

Steve also lifts up to his knees. He works his zipper open and pushes down his pants and his boxers. The cock Bucky was forced to suck earlier is springing free again, taunting Bucky when it touches the inner side of his thighs.

“Close your knees together,” Steve breathes out into Bucky’s ear. Both his hands are working on probing the latter’s chest, exploring every nook and relishing the touch of smooth skin shuddering under his fingers. Bucky follows the order, bringing his knees together. Steve nudges the crown of his cock along Bucky’s rim, slowly pushing in.

“W-what…” Bucky rasps, confused and flushed all the way to his ears.

“Don’t be such a prude now, Bucky.” Steve chuckles, biting down the tip of one of his captive’s ears. “We’ve come so far,” he says, “you already know the feeling of my cock up your ass, this isn’t so different.”

It is, though.

Steve isn’t thrusting into him; he is making use of his thighs instead. Although he is happy that he isn’t being raped senseless, he can’t help but wonder why this of all his schemes. Is he being considerate?

Not a chance.

“Oh,” Steve drones, “What do we have here?”

Bucky perks up at the remark, and in mere seconds, a novel hand cups his cock. He keens at the sudden contact, his head tossing to the back until it falls on Steve’s shoulder.

“You’re hard.” Steve comments in a shrilling tone, as though he’s caught Bucky red-handed. As though the comment isn’t some theory subsequent to some magnificent occurrence. Bucky would give anything to deny that, that he is, indeed, erect. Steve suddenly starts thrusting. His thumb on the crown of Bucky’s cock, poking it relentlessly.

Bucky can feel Steve’s dick hitting the back of his balls, and he doesn’t know why, but the feeling is absolute ecstasy. Steve’s thumb, although it is hurting him, he can feel precum slowly starting to overflow.

“If you cum,” Steve starts, “I’ll cut off your tongue.”

Bucky’s face pales at that. A numbing feeling replaces the ecstasy, and he is then peering at the wall with a pair of terrified eyes. It’s not that difficult of a task to not, he but needs to remember the gore that took place in the woods and his cock will shrink.

Steve’s tongue comes back again to toy with his bruises. As Bucky whimpers at the resultant pain, Steve’s thrusts becomes faster. Both know that he is going to cum very soon, and Bucky is welcoming the idea with open arms because being treated like this is more than humiliating, it’s revolting. But he is soon robbed of his ideas when Steve pierces the skin of his shoulder with his teeth, biting on the skin so hard that Bucky can’t help but let out a brittle scream. Steve is coming all over the inner side of Bucky’s thighs. When he pulls away, Bucky falls over, framing the fresh wound with a shaky hand.

“We’re not done yet.” Steve announces atop Bucky; his flat voice tells Bucky that is a plain order.

Bucky looks up through his slanted eyes, and Steve’s still-erect member gives him a bad feeling about how this is going to end. So if that wasn’t enough to satisfy Steve, he might eventually do it the traditional way, except Steve’s way is gorier. He can’t be satisfied if he doesn’t hurt Bucky.

“Lie flat on your back,” he instructs, “Fold your knees and pull them apart.”

Reluctantly, Bucky follows the precise order. Being stared at by Steve makes him feel naked, he is, but it sort of stresses the feeling of helplessness. And as a blush blooms over his two cheeks, he brings his arms to drape them over his face, but Steve is having none of it.

“And take the fun away from it?” Steve’s arrogant smirk makes its usual appearance. “Not a chance.” Saying so, he braces his arms on either side of Bucky’s head, looming in on the man beneath like a terminating threat. At first, he rubs his cock on Bucky’s, and it seems the first trial gives him the exact thing he hoped for as he commences thrusting on his captive’s cock.

Bucky quickly reminds himself of the deaths back in the woods because something strange is happening, he is getting hard again, and worse, he is starting to feel it.

“My…” he groans, looking up at Steve, “My back, you’re hurting my back.”

Evidently, not the smartest thing to say as Steve scowls and glares down at Bucky who stills immediately.

But it’s really painful like this…

Steve straightens up, not rubbing against Bucky anymore and the latter wonders if this is when Steve fishes out for a knife to cut off his tongue. But Steve, unpredictable son of a bitch that he is, he fists his dick and begins to nudge the crown against Bucky’s puckered entrance.

“No,” he perks up, propping on his elbow with a hand and swatting at Steve’s shoulder with the other, “no, you can’t. I’m hurt!” He protests, vehemently. “You absolutely can’t.”

Steve slaps Bucky’s hand away as though he’s just been touched with something so vile that he was afraid it’d taint him. And honestly, Bucky does feel tainted. He feels as though he could taint anything with just a touch. That he is unclean, inside out, that a worm like him deserves everything that happens to it, and maybe more.

“Don’t you understand?” Steve wonders loudly. “I want it to hurt you,” he says, “Believe me, when I’m done with you, you’re going to beg me for this.”

“I’ll bite off my own tongue,” Bucky threatens, rules be damned, he is not getting fucked in the ass, not again. “Probably save you the trouble.”

Steve tilts his head. “Such false integrity,” he intones, “when you have already been dirtied, reduced to nothing but the filth I step on with my boots.”

Bucky’s face twitches, his eyebrows, his pupils, and his lips. And he is pushing them back, but he fails utterly when his tears fall down his cheeks.

The last thing he needed is someone below him wording his worst fears for him.

“Don’t act so high and mighty now,” Steve gives a scornful sneer, “have you already forgotten how you sucked me dry in here,” at this, he thumbs Bucky’s lips before inserting it in, pressing against his tongue. “You looked like a cock-crazed slut to me.”

Bucky’s flat hand plunges forward on its own accord, aiming Steve’s face, the latter catches it midair and smirks at the man beneath.

“How refreshing,” He hums, amusement latent in his voice. “Now why don’t you be the slut you are for my cock and lie back. Let me have some fun?”

In the end, it’s all meaningless. It’s always been, always will be.

A knock on the slightly ajar door brings them to a cautious pause, and then a three-shelf trolley table lined with a lot of food is being pushed through the door followed by a slightly short man dressed in black trousers, a six-button doubled tailcoat, and a white dress shirt. The middle-aged man also wears square glasses, sports white gloves and shiny black loafers.

“Oh,” Steve beams, “Just in time, Tony.”

Bucky rushes to sit properly after the man, Tony, eyes him with such heavy-lidded eyes.

Tony says, “I’ve brought what you asked for.”

“Never mind that,” Steve waves it off with a hand. He looks down at the man beneath trying, so desperately, to bring his knees back together to protect himself from more humiliation. It’s amusing judging by his sneer. “I need you with this one,” he says, “chain his wrists.”

Tony nods firmly in such sickening obedience.

Just as Steve retreats to the settee, Tony approaches Bucky. The latter worms back until he meets the wall again, but eventually capitulates to his fate as Tony grasps one of his flailing arms and pulls him to the center where he is only a foot away from the settee Steve is currently occupying. Then, he brings the chains that are hooked to the ceiling, loosens them a bit and starts binding each of Bucky’s wrists.

“Well done.” Steve compliments the strange man, the latter nods again, wording his happiness for meeting his expectation. He walks up to the settee and stands beside Steve. The two of them look down at Bucky who is pulling against the chains, willing them to give already, of course, they don’t. “That’s where you belong.”

On his knees, bound and humiliated. Is that really where he belongs?

There’s a laugh that vibrates within his chest before he throws his head to the back, laughing out loud until his neck hurts. Indeed, it is revolting, but what redeems it is the idea that it was Steve who subjected him to all this, it wasn’t a choice of his free will. When the laughter morphs into a chuckle and then decrescendos to a mere hum, Bucky looks up into Steve’s blank eyes, amusement in his own, “This is where I belong? Don’t kid yourself, asshole.” He starts, “You’re a cheat,” he says. “All the way in, and all the way out.”

Steve’s eyebrows do a slight twitch.

“I can’t put up a decent fight because you’re starving me to death, making use of my epilepsy to flaunt about your false strength, but you and I both know that bragging about that to someone whom you’ve robbed of any means to defend himself is cheap.” He shrugs. “So don’t go thinking you’re better than me, in fact, you’re lower.” He smirks at his captor. “You’re the lowest, Steve.”

It’s as though in a slow motion: Steve’s right hand balls into a fist and launches to Bucky’s face. Although the latter sees it coming, he but smirks vaguely and lets it happen. Only, it comes to a sudden halt when it’s only an inch away from his cheek.

“Chickening out, how unusual!” Bucky chuckles, taking his eyes off of the fisted hand and back to Steve’s fuming eyes.

“Tony,” the said man suddenly calls out, “prepare him for me.”

But Tony, wide-eyed and still, is momentarily only staring at Bucky that it makes the latter inwardly recoil.

“Tony!” Steve’s voice calls louder this time, “do I have to repeat myself?”

The man, underling most likely, nods and apologizes, and then he goes about to follow the order. And as Bucky stiffens, readying himself for the ‘preparation,’ his eyes fall on Steve’s wicked ones, ridiculing him silently. Tony pulls the service table to him, that’s behind Bucky so he can’t see what’s going on.

“I preferred you docile, although conversely, I don’t quite dislike this side of you either,” Steve comments, “it’s more thrilling this way.”

Bucky hardens his gaze.

“Unfortunately for you,” he continues, “you’re not getting any treats.”

“I’d rather die than eat something I was fucked in the ass for.” He counters, “Obedience, gratitude? What are you, a kid? I cleaned myself and the floor earlier because I couldn’t stand the filth, not because I wanted to please you.” He huffs. “You’re so full of yourself,” he grits out, ignoring how enraged Steve is looking at him. “If you want everything cleaned, why don’t you hire a servant?”

Steve props his cheek on his knuckles with his elbow on the armrest; his eyes now look hooded.

Thicker hands, sickening to the touch, roam over his body. Darn, he had completely forgotten about Tony when he was rebuking Steve. Now his breath hitches down his throat when those hands, although gloved, they start to finger his rim.

So that’s what Steve meant by ‘prepare.’

A finger teases him before it’s inserted in, and Bucky squirms under the pull of the chains, detesting the feeling of being groped and prodded. Steve then brings his foot and tramples on Bucky’s cock; the latter whines brokenly at the rough treatment, and ends up whimpering when Steve stomps harder. Tony inserts a second finger, crooks it within until it grazes something that immediately makes Bucky moan with wanton.

“Lowest, you say?” Steve’s deep voice replaces the muffled noises, “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” He chides, coolly. “Just look at yourself, getting hard from two men molesting you. Is there any lower than that?”

As though deciphering some meaning, Tony pushes in a third finger now, twisting them inside to rub the prostate.

Bucky looks down at his own erection; his entire face flushes at sight. He feels the fingers stretching him ruthlessly, almost tearing his round flesh. A relief overwhelms him when those fingers are yanked out, but it’s short-lived as they get replaced by something much solid, colder, and bigger.

“Tony,” Steve murmurs in a jaded tone, “some input is required for my slut here.”

“Very well,” The older man speaks, “I have inserted a curved plug for extra sensation,” he says, now, he rotates the said plug and Bucky’s entire body trembles. “The curved shape of this plug is specifically designed to target the prostate gland, granted, the extra weight of the metal device also adds more sensation, stimulation can thus lead to trembling orgasms.”

“However,” Steve swings his index, “the object of this is not to make you feel good, is it?”

Bucky shoots a nasty glare at the man, for generally toying with his body however he wants. He, then, hears soft rattling, as though someone is rummaging through something. Then Tony is lifting Bucky’s slippery cock, strokes it with his hand that feels like it’s covered with something liquid and slimy. Bucky guesses it’s lube. A steel loop comes into view in Tony’s other hand. He opens it and places it on the area where Bucky’s penis and balls meet, and then a spiral device is cupped on his cock. Bucky watches, awed and horrified, as Tony comes with a padlock and puts it on through a thread that connects the ring and the cock cage, and locks it. He switches his attention to Bucky’s chest, brings the clamps and pegs them to each of Bucky’s nipples, and then he moves away, walks up to Steve again and hands him the key.

The hand that is not supporting the weight of Steve’s head lifts up and beckons Bucky to come closer, which the man does after he chances a fleeting glance at Steve’s dead eyes. But the moment he shuffles, the thing plugged into his butt brushes against his P-gland, and Bucky stills, forces his eyes shut and tries to breathe through it. But he knows Steve hates to wait, so he grits his teeth and crawls his way to Steve. The latter takes his cock out from the unzipped fly. He looks at Bucky and then cards his fingers through the latter’s dark hair, gentle strokes providing false comfort. Bucky’s chin dips, he hates this –he loathes it, last time, he almost choked to death because Steve pushed all the way to the back of his throat. Eventually, he swallows his pride and parts his lips, slowly taking the half-erect penis in his mouth.

Steve excluded, Bucky never sucked a cock before. As a matter of fact, he never had his cock sucked. He has absolutely no recollection of how this is done. In retrospect, he did come across some gay videos when he was still discovering the world of stimulator through masturbation, and honestly, he never thought he’d be subjected to suck off a man.

“Diving straight in,” Steve scoffs, his fingers still stroking Bucky’s scalp, “hungry for my cock, aren’t you?”

It’s not even been a minute since Bucky started bobbing down and up on Steve’s cock, taking it and then drawing back to the tip, sucking shallowly and then diving in again, and now Steve is rock hard in his mouth.

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Bucky smirks once he pulls back, lips swollen and wet, “getting like this from a slut sucking you off.”

The fingers on Bucky’s hair clench until he winces, and then he is pulled down, mouth on the cock covered in precum. “If you have time to chat, you should finish off properly.”

Bucky’s anxiety shoots to the ceiling because Steve is thrusting into his mouth again, choking him.

“Tony.”

Moments later, Bucky starts feeling Tony playing with the plug inside him rubbing his prostate. He can’t help the moans that escape him and fan on the tip of Steve’s cock in his mouth. His nipples are tugged at by the clamps and he genuinely wants some relief, but the ring on his cock is blocking him, denying him of a much-needed orgasm.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Steve chuckles darkly. “I’ll make you a deal, if you beg for my cock, I’ll unlock the cage.” Saying so, he pulls his cock out of Bucky’s mouth, giving him a chance to reply.

“An integrative bargaining, is it?” Bucky comments after spitting aside.

“No more unilateral actions,” Steve confirms, “just say the magic word and you’ll find relief.”

“Are you joking?” Bucky scoffs, “Why would I beg for your dick when Tony here is doing a terrific job of making me feel good?” he asks, albeit rhetorical so Steve remains silent, “you’re like a child, relying on brute force, couldn’t even make me hard in both times.”

This time, the punch does land on Bucky’s cheek. And instead of precum, he rolls his chin and spits blood, and then he looks up at Steve. “See?” he reminds, “Brute.”

“You just had to have the last word, didn’t you?” Steve grits out, now slowly lifting up to his feet. “Tony, leave.”

Said man retreats from the room. The door creaks and closes shut.

Bucky, for some mysterious reason, he is not scared. He did screw with Steve’s mind, provoking him like that, but it’s as he said, Steve is exactly like a child, too self-conceited to see what’s really important. And he knows the man is going to punish him, but this is where it gets fun, Even though he will punish him, Steve won’t make any threats, won’t even bring up Clint.

Through the punishment, he will try to prove himself.

Childish, isn’t he?

Steve aims the butt plug, yanks it out and throws it aside. Instead, he replaces it with his cock, pushing it in without any hesitation until Bucky falls over but the chains keep him up.

“I’ll show you,” Steve promises, “you’re going to beg for it.”

Bucky is glad; he is so glad that Steve can’t see his face from this position, that he can’t see his smirk.

 

 

Bucky, as Steve promised, is on the verge of begging, he wants to come at least once. Steve has, at some point, quit thrusting to hit his prostate, and is now grinding into it instead, rubbing it with such eagerness.

“Stop…” Bucky moans on the gasps. “Stop grinding into me!”

Steve ignores the plea completely as he engrosses himself in sucking Bucky’s neck. “The magic word, Bucky, come on.”

Steve has lifted Bucky on his lap and is currently grinding into him, delicious squelches resound from the action. Because Steve already came before between Bucky’s thighs, he is dragging this on and enjoying himself.

Bucky’s entire body is hot and trembling. His cock is swelling, about to burst. A game or not, he needs relief, he needs it now. “I want…” he rasps breathlessly, “to... I want to cum already.”

Steve brings his mouth to Bucky’s ear, “I don’t give a fuck what you want.”

The hot breath tingles down there, and Bucky arches a little off of Steve, here, he can come at that, just, if the damn ring could go off. “Steve, please” he whimpers, the tears he fought to keep held in, they fall down his cheeks. “Please help, I’m begging you. I’ll burst.”

Steve lets out a sweet chuckle, and one of his hands brings a tiny key to the cock cage, unlocks the padlock and takes it off. The ring comes off next, and then all the blood rushes to Bucky’s cock, the tingle and the dizziness. Bucky can finally come, but suddenly, Steve thrusts into his captive and in the same time, he bites hard on Bucky’s already bruised shoulder.

Bucky’s vision goes white as his climax, at last, arrives. He tosses his head to the back, assured Steve would shoulder it. He enjoys cumming with a brittle shout.

Steve takes his dick out and cums all over Bucky’s ass and the floor, coating it milky white. “Whether you realize it or not,” Steve speaks, his hand coming to Bucky’s hair, combing it with his fingers. “You’re not invincible, Bucky,” he reveals, “Remember that.”

Bucky swallows and lifts his head off of the other’s shoulder; he looks down at his penis, red and swollen, nonetheless relieved.

Steve adjusts his clothes and stands up, aiming the table, “Although I’m partial to the thrill you give me,” he says, “I must say, docile or not, you definitely deserve a treat for begging.”

Bucky winces and his shoulders tense, he looks down, too abashed that he fell for his desires to even lift his head.

“There’s food, and oh look, a blanket.” Steve gushes, “a bar of soap, too.”

Bucky isn’t feeling so triumphant.

“Which one do you want first?” Steve asks, “Or maybe, you can have them all.” So out of the blue, he starts pouring the contents of the dishes onto the ground, chicken soup, spaghetti, protein bars… all mingling on the already dirtied floor.

Bucky’s heart twists with that, all that food getting thrown when he himself is starving, so, what, is Steve expecting him to lick it off the floor?

“Whoops,” Steve intones, “it looks like I dirtied the floor. But it’s alright. I’m sure a person such as you, who is absolutely appalled by filth, would clean it up.”

Saying so, he tosses the blanket and the soap on the settee –thank God for that or Bucky would have to cover himself with something so disgusting– ups and leaves, taking the trolley table with him. Didn’t even unchain Bucky’s wrists, there’s no one to clean this mess.

“So fucking childish.” Bucky grits out.

 

 

 

 

 A sample of a single-tailed whip can be found [here](https://previews.123rf.com/images/schristina/schristina0905/schristina090500024/4926953-Black-Single-Tail-Whip-isolated-on-white-background--Stock-Photo.jpg).


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

Bucky never predicted the next time Tony would walk through that door to help him through his pain, his injuries and the mess Steve created before finally vanishing without a word. The usual, Bucky thinks it’s the usual.

Tony removes Bucky’s chains, hoists him up, and grunts as Bucky starts squirming. The muscled man assures Bucky that he only means well, and that he is here with orders from Steve to clean him up and feed him. Bucky stills. He is partially relieved that he doesn’t have to endeavor to pry it out of him: the reason Tony is loyal to Steve to a fault. He also marvels at the fact that he, at last, can eat some food. He sits still and lets Tony take the wheel from there.

 

For the next two days or so –Bucky isn’t really sure because time seems to pass really slowly in this place–Tony is the only one who shows up at the dungeon, either to clean Bucky up or to feed him. However, for both days, it doesn’t go peacefully because Tony, once he had Bucky returned to his spot and chained down, would put a silicone plug into Bucky’s entrance and leave it there until he had to clean him up again. And with all things considered, Bucky has a pretty decent idea about the reason why.

 

Today, Bucky’s entire body is feeling quite heavy for some reason, but that’s not today’s milestone. It makes it the third time Tony appears in Steve’s stead, and Bucky is relieved, more or less. It’d have rattled his core if Steve continued to starve him; although, that’s somewhat his own fault since he’s the one who has been acting pretty high about it. Tony is bringing food again and he helps Bucky eat, cleans his mouth, and straightens his hair and shaves his stubble. Bucky’s eyes are attentive. He knows Tony is going to be messing with his butt next, so he braces for it. Getting probed like that –Bucky grits his teeth– he’d never get used to it. As expected, Tony works next on rotating the plug, massaging the inner gland in a way that makes it impossible for Bucky not to have any sort of reaction. His precum spurts and plops onto the enamel, slick and transparent.

Tony stops abruptly, standing up to double-check the chains. As he does that, Bucky’s eyes fall on the bulge growing in size under the man’s trousers. It horrifies him. He finds Tony looking back at him with dead eyes, so he quickly looks away, huffing. “You’re sick, all of you.”

 

 

This is torture. This is what torture really is. You can’t just fuck around with a man’s prostate gland like that and let him deal with it on his own while his hands are tied. What’s worse than that is that his entire body is in flames. He can even feel the metal on both of his wrists heating up, so he concludes that his fever is going up at an alarming rate.

The lights stream all over the room, and would have almost blinded him if he did not hide his eyes under his upper arm.

“You don’t look so good.”

That voice. A deep voice that, to Bucky’s chagrin, has managed to plant terror into him; a voice that could make him tremble with only a whisper.

Bucky’s bleary eyes haven’t adapted yet to the lights, but he finds it less painful when he squints up at the white silhouette before him, and rasps. “Steve…”

“Tell me where it hurts.”

Bucky’s lids open wider, eyes analyzing the lab coat, the glasses, and the dark colored clothing underneath. He finally settles on Steve’s eyes, and something in them makes him shrink in on himself a little.

“’Guess I’ll just have to help myself then.”

Bucky suddenly feels cold fingers feeling his forehead; the sensation is unbelievable for a moment.

“It seems you’re running a bit of a fever.” Steve retrieves his hand. “I guess the wounds on your back have became infected, nothing to worry about though. It’s because you haven’t been keeping a healthy diet that your body isn’t able to fight off viruses as it should.”

That’s a relief for you. Bucky is happy his insides aren’t rotting away or anything as grotesque. But that doesn’t mean an infection isn’t just as bad. However, since Steve caught it early, he’s sure the doctor, however psychotic he might be, won’t let him die from some mere infection. Well, since it’s been a few days since Bucky has seen his abductor, this reunion rather emphasizes everything that has happened lately, and Bucky is crushed with all sorts of feelings. When he looks up, his eyes are more focused now. He shudders.

Steve is looking back at him, but there’s a wild smile creeping up his lips.

“What’s with you, psychotic doctor –” Bucky starts, brows meeting in a deep furrow on his clammy forehead. “Happy that I got sick?”

“No, I’m not.” Steve denies, yet his smile is still plastered on his face.

“Then why are you smiling?”

Steve’s eyes glint. “I was just thinking,” he starts. His smile turns predatory. “It’d be so damn hot to fuck you while you’re feverish.”

Bucky’s gulp echoes across the room.

Steve then barks a laugh. “You don’t have to look so horrified,” he says, “I’m just sharing my fantasies with you. What’s wrong about that?”

Without adding anything else, Steve unchains Bucky’s right wrist and leads him to the wall at the back.

“For reasons I can’t state, I can’t let you out of this room.” Saying so, he crouches beside the other and lets out a prolonged sigh. Now he elaborates. “I know how you must be feeling right now but bear with it for a couple more days. For me, okay?” His hand darts to the other’s bruised neck to fondle the injuries he inflicted himself.

Bucky’s entire body is hot. He feels so hot that he fears his skin might actually melt off. And his breathing, it’s just too erratic to sound normal. Maybe he is dying. Who gives a damn anymore? He is too groggy to even think straight. Fevers tend to do that, right?

When he lifts himself up, shaky knees threaten to buckle beneath him. He chalks it up to his fevered delirium as he inches his unchained hand toward his throbbing length after making sure Steve was still watching him. He cups his own cock.

Steve’s face goes from that of a stoic medical professional tending to his patient, to a wild animal salivating at the sight of his delicious prey.

Bucky doesn’t know what he is doing anymore. He blames his body. Yes, it’s easier that way. His treacherous body trembles every single time Steve’s fingers touch him. Steve made him like this. He desecrated him, and he taught him how to be easily debilitated –to be an easy target for temptation. Bucky’s hand starts moving up and down his shaft, moaning sweetly every time the plug brushes against his G-spot.

“No way,” Steve gushes, re-positioning himself properly on his haunches. “You’re actually going to give me that.” It’s a clear statement.

Bucky’s ‘fevered delirium’ gifts him with more crafty ideas. Although he doesn’t know why his body can’t obey him–won’t obey him, he ends up giving in to that side: the side he never knew he had in him.

His chained arm pulls against the metal, desperate to join its twin in stimulating the head of his cock. Bucky’s hip shifts a little to cause more friction down inside, and it comes out with amazing results. He feels his climax closing in on him so his body arches off the wall while his head rests on it. A few more strokes, and he cums all over his hand with a brittle shout. He finally looks away from the ceiling and down at Steve. His cheeks flushed and his eyes watery, and although he is feverish and delirious, he doesn’t fail to see Steve’s tongue snaking out across his upper lip as though he wanted to devour him right then. Bucky smirks and uses that hand covered in cum to touch the scar on Steve’s face, leaving a long trail of it on the latter's scarred cheek.

It’s as though a button has been switched and Steve lurches forward, pushing Bucky against the wall, fervent and greedy. “You’re resilient,” he comments, “You’re so fucking resilient I’m lucky.”

Bucky feels his body being maneuvered so that he is facing the wall instead. Then, the plug is roughly pulled out of him and he can’t help but let out a startled gasp.

“You’re dripping away down here.” Saying so, Steve nudges Bucky’s entrance with the crown of his cock. “This is going to feel so good, for the both of us of course.”

Without meaning to, Bucky pushes against the cock poking his anus. Because it’s so slippery, the other’s cock ends up sliding along Bucky’s rim. The latter moans his dissatisfaction shamelessly.

“Whoa,” Steve chuckles deeply next to Bucky’s ear. “You’re so greedy for me today. What happened”–he uses his tongue to fondle Bucky’s hot earlobe–“did you miss me?”

Bucky’s back arches against the voice that sends sensual tremors all over his body. He looks at the profile of Steve’s face, his jaw line right in front of Bucky’s mouth. He can’t resist it so he parts his teeth and bites the man’s jaw line. The latter lets out a pleasurable sigh, his cock penetrating Bucky on its own accord.

Steve chuckles again, his hands now immobilizing the other from his hip bones. He starts thrusting into Bucky, driven wilder by the wetness and heat with his head tossed to the back, and his eyes wide and unbelieving.

“This…” Bucky mumbles through his moans. “What the…” He tries again as Steve keeps on jerking his hips in a blur. “So amazing… so –feels so good…”

Steve gives him more time to enjoy this feeling. Besides, Bucky, forever obstinate and self-righteous, coming undone so wantonly like a bitch in heat makes Steve even hornier.

The sound of skin slapping skin, the breathless mumbles, and the wetness loosing up for Steve is too overwhelming. He needs to have a rein on this. He has to.

“I also get something from this, Buck,” he suddenly informs after Bucky spurts his cum onto the tiled wall. “It’s tedious without the thrill.”

Bucky is too lost in this new sensation of fulfillment to pay attention to anything else really, so he gets quite the shock when Steve grabs the chain still attached to his left hand and wraps it around his neck. The problem with the chain is that the more you pull against it, the tighter it becomes. So the minute Steve wraps the chain on his neck, Bucky’s lungs start to feel suffocated. The more Steve thrusts into him, the harder it is to breathe.

“Now that’s a charming sound,” Steve comments after Bucky lets out choked off gasps. “See? This brings satisfaction for both of us.”

Instead of being horrified, Bucky’s cock twitches and becomes hard again. He feels Steve’s hands touching his back gently, if his current mind is of any reliable source.

“Your back,” Steve pants hotly, “It’s so sexy.” The gentle touches become merciless, clawing Bucky’s skin as though trying to tear his way in. Bucky mewls in pain again, and the mewl changes into a scream. Just like that, Steve releases his load in one major spurt.

 

*******

 

Bucky’s been waking up and drifting off back to sleep again for some undetermined time now. He remembers seeing Tony around in the lab wing: tending to him, feeding him, keeping him hydrated, and keeping him clean. When his fever was finally brought down by Tony’s remarkable skills and dedication, Bucky finds that he’s been sleeping on a memory foam mattress with nothing else on but his boxers and a chain around his neck. That really shouldn’t be the biggest of his worries.

Tony is here again, taking his temperature and allowing his hands to wander all over Bucky’s body. After a while, Bucky finally can’t tolerate it as he clutches the man’s wrists and digs his nails into the skin, just to make his point.

“I think I’ve had my share of getting prodded by you.” He grits out, giving the hands a hefty shove. “You can stop now.”

Tony acknowledges his request for the time being, but something dangerous flashes in his eyes as he eyes his scratched wrists. “I understand,” he says, “I’ll be reporting back to the young master then.”

Just as he stands from his crouch, Bucky calls for him. “Wait, young master?”

Tony eyes him with a vague look. “Steve Rogers is the young master.”

Like that didn’t reveal itself as Tony indulged every order of that psycho.' Bucky isn’t an idiot. He already figured it out, and the only reason he’s asking now is to urge Tony to intricate. Of course, he isn’t interested in Steve’s social life, but whatever he can learn here today from this blank-faced guy could really help him out in ways he can’t even know yet.

“So what,” Bucky scoffs, “is this some ‘son of the owner turned evil’ saga, and you’re the butler keeping things in check?” he says, grating a little on the other’s nerves–if he has any–so he can spill what he knows.

“I’m not allowed to talk about anything to you,” Tony informs with impassive eyes.

“Humor me,” Bucky bites out, “I’m tucked between four walls, man. You and that asshole are the only things keeping me occupied–and not in a fun way, if you catch my drift.” He winks at the man.

Tony cocks his head at Bucky, making him fidget a little under the piercing glare. “It’s no secret so it couldn’t possibly be important,” he tells him. “Steve inherited this mansion from his parents who died in a car accident three years ago. He was studying medicine abroad at that time before he came back and set up shop here, preferring to have his own clinic,” he says with a premature smirk. “The mansion consists of three floors: the first one, which is the one at the very top, is Steve’s personal suite, if you will; the second one is the clinic; and the third, which was built underground, is the dungeon, where you currently are.”

Bucky processes the information with a thoughtful expression.

“That’ll be all for today,” Tony intones, “I’ll come back later.”

“Wait!” Bucky calls out again, “My friend. When can I see my friend again?”

“That is not for me to decide,” Tony tells him in monotone.

“Then go tell Steve for me.” Bucky’s eyes quiver as he looks up at the man. “Tell him that I requested this. Please.”

He studies the captive for a moment before he walks away, making his way to the door. Bucky’s eyes are scrutinizing the retreating figure. As soon as Tony leaves the lab, Bucky examines the length of the chain on his neck and he finds that it reaches the bottom left corner of the room, deeply inserted into the wall. Someone must have been crafting ideas, architecting ways to entomb him in this sickening room.

So this dungeon is the basement of the clinic, which means there’s some way out. Steve and his minions walk in and out freely so that probably entails an elevator or a staircase if Bucky is lucky. And Clint is in the room just down the hall, assuming that he is still near the room he had been at when he was first brought here. The main reason Bucky asked to see his friend is just so he is sure he’s in one piece for when he comes to save him.

 

He only realizes that he’s nodded off when he jerks awake, sits up and there they are: Clint and the muscled guy, Tony. They are standing on the right side of the red settee with Steve slumped on it, leaning forward with elbows on knees, a sneer cramping his lips.

Bucky shoots towards his friend, but the backlash from the chain pulling taut against his neck sends him sprawling backward onto the mattress with a gasped grunt.

“Easy there, tiger,” Steve drawls. “You’ll hurt your throat.”

Bucky grimaces when his throat throbs from that impact. He uprights himself and pushes down the instinct to bolt toward Clint, instead taking a moment to eye his friend. And then he sees his blindfolded eyes, and something like extreme relief washes over him. Other than that, Clint seems fit as a fiddle– scared, yes, but he’ll worry about his emotional trauma when they get out of this place,  _alive_. He fixates Steve with a cold glare now.

“When I said I wanted to see him,” he starts, “this is not what I had in mind.”

Steve tilts his head and waves it in a long, slow shake. “True,” he comments, “but you’re forgetting something.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow at the other.

Steve latches onto the chain around Bucky’s neck and tugs, pulling his captive along. The settee is placed just at the rim of the mattress, and it isn’t all too hard for Bucky to guess the reason why as his captor seats himself atop its cushions and drags Bucky down between his parted legs. Steve brings Bucky’s nose to his, and Bucky has to sit on his knees and hands to keep the position.

“You said you wanted to see your friend. Although it’s hectic upstairs, I still brought him to you, and what do I get in return?” He taps Bucky’s cheek in light slaps. “You _wicked_ little shit,” he bellows, “You can’t even thank me for my efforts.”

Without his consent, Bucky’s hands clandestinely take Steve’s left one that’s still pressing the chain down, and he kisses it. “I’m very grateful to you. Thank you so much for bringing my friend to me. I can’t believe what a merciful man you are towards someone so ungrateful like me.”

Steve looks taken aback for a fragment of a second before he smirks. “That’s more like it,” he chirps. “Now you can have that friend reunion you wanted with him, but make it quick.”

Bucky nods to the man and faces his friend. “Clint?”

Clint, dressed in white shorts and plain T, stiffens. “Bucky, is that really you?”

Bucky almost breaks at his incredulous tone; he must have thought Bucky was dead all this time. “Yes, yes,” he assures him with a warm smile. “Are you injured? They don’t hurt you, do they?”

Clint shakes his head fervently. “And your epilepsy,” he says, “Your head took quite the trauma last time I saw you.”

“I’m okay,” he says before pausing. Taking in what he’d just said, Bucky furrowed his brow in thought. “Actually, I haven’t had a seizure in a while now.”

“That’s”–Steve perks up–“because I healed it.” He lifts himself up, sidesteps the mattress, then flops down beside Bucky and lets out a sigh. “We can do that entire explanation thing later,” he says with a slight eye-roll. “Now...” He ghosts his hands over Bucky’s back. The bruises are healing beautifully. “Looking at you guys talk, I suddenly feel like I want to be part of this.”

Bucky, for the sake of his friend and the daunting thought that he might get beheaded in front of his eyes, lets Steve do as he pleases with him.

“You see, Clint, your friend and I are very close now,” he starts, smirking cheekily at Bucky, whose eyes are widening in shock. “Umm no, that’s not it.” He shakes his head. “We’re intimate now. Yep, that about covers it.”

“Bucky.” Clint clears his throat nervously. “What’s he on about?”

“Nothing,” Bucky provides hastily. “It’s a crazy man’s talk.”

Steve’s hand clutches Bucky’s hair from the back, pulls him so his lips are on Bucky’s ear. “I can play this game,” he proclaims. “If I remembered correctly, Clint,” he tells the young man, “That girl, ‘she your girlfriend, right?”

Both friends tense.

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky hair. “What? You didn’t expect me to play little around with my pets?” he jokes. “Say, you must have had sex with her many times. I’m sure it felt great, and I don’t want to hear the story, but what about your childhood friend here.”

“What’re you doing?” Bucky hisses.

Steve jerks his head to silence him. “I’m talking now, love, don’t interrupt.” He scoffs, “So I was saying, ever seen your friend in some compromising position before?”

“What are you talking about you sick bastard!” Clint roars. “What did you do to Natasha? Where’s she?”

Bucky is proud of his friend’s fighting spirit.

“Don’t be so difficult, Clint.” He chuckles, “I asked you a question, stop whining.”

“Why would I listen to you?” he bawls, tears threatening to fall like a torrent and he usually doesn’t cry.

Steve lets out a little of an enraged sigh and pulls Bucky’s ear to his mouth again. “Let’s play a game, shall we?” he whispers into his captive’s ear. “Every time he refuses to answer a question, you’ll take the brunt.”

Bucky shakes his head because he knows how dangerous and degrading the man’s games are. “No, no,” he refuses doggedly, still in a whisper. “You can’t. No, you can’t.”

Steve considers it through a thoughtful silence and then his lips curl up in a wicked smirk. “I sort of think I can.” Saying so, he looks at Clint again. “So Clint, ever seen your friend having sex before?”

Clint scrunches his face up despite the blindfold hiding his eyes. “What kind of sick question is that?”

Steve mumbles a ‘one’ before he plants himself behind Bucky and pushes him down, so they’re reclining on their sides. “Say, Clint, ever heard your friend moan like a whore?”

“You’re sick.” Clint breathes out, chiding. “You need to get the hell lobotomized out of you!”

Steve chuckles on a mumbled ‘two’ before he unzips his fly and takes out his cock.

“Clint, just ans–” Bucky almost finishes his sentence, but Steve’s hand cups his mouth to stop him.

“No cheating,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear.

“What’re you doing to my friend?” he rebukes, tensing in Tony’s hands.

“I have another question for you, Clint.” Steve muses, a hand stroking Bucky’s hipbone. “Ever seen your friend get fucked balls deep?”

“Bucky!” Clint calls out suddenly. “What’s he been doing to you? Don’t fall for his tricks; we’ll get out of here, okay. Just get it together! You hear me?”

Bucky’s eyelids flutter before he looks down, letting the inevitable happen.

“He’s just screwed you over, your childhood friend.” Steve lets out a hearty laugh, now lifting Bucky’s leg from the thigh so he can insert his cock in.

“Steve…” Bucky sees no other way out of this but resorting to the thing he absolutely despises. “Please, Steve. Not like this, I’ll do anything for you, just not this.”

“You’re such a fascinating creature, Bucky.” Steve snorts. “You always seem to think that this is about what you want or what makes you feel good, but it’s not. How many times do I have to say it?”

Clint is still grumbling about his friend’s wellbeing, not really having an ounce of an idea about what’s really going on.

Bucky clutches at the mattress, his eyes shutting too forcefully. “Steve, I’m begging you,” he pleads croakily. “Don’t do this to me. Steve please, I’ll die. I’ll seriously go out of my mind if you do this.”

Steve nudges the head of his dick against that entrance. “Umm, now I’m having second thoughts.”

Bucky’s stomach churns with the sudden flicker of hope. “Anything, Steve, anything you want. I promise, just not this.”

“You’re pretty smart; I give you that.” Steve drones. “Making it sound like it's about what I want when you and I both know that’s not the case. Wow. But you know what, this _is_ what I want.” Saying so, he forwards his hips and pushes into Bucky. The latter slaps a hand over his own mouth to keep from letting out any sounds, but he fails eventually when Steve snaps his hips so quickly, stretching him wide, spreading his flesh. “But I still love it when you beg.”

“Buck...” Clint croaks. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“I’m… fine.” Bucky rasps in between stifled moans and low whimpers. “Don’t –don't worry.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you, Bucky.” Steve sing-songs, “Hey, Clint,” he calls after pausing, and Bucky beside him pants. “Keep your mouth shut for a second. If you distract me again, I’ll snap, and believe me, you won’t like me if I snap.”

“Why,” Clint grouses. “What are you planning to do to him?”

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Steve gripes. “Tony, if he speaks again, break his neck.”

Clint immediately stills.

“Clint,” Bucky croaks out. “Just do what he says, I’m begging you.”

Said man lets out a tiny sob and Bucky’s hands are kind of busy so he can’t console his pain away. He is sorry for his friend, though, that he is here, witnessing what’s being done to him.

“Jeez, Bucky, you’re no fun anymore.” Steve grumbles. “Begging everyone for everything”

“Just get it over with, you bastard.” Bucky’s voice is flat.

Steve shifts their position so that Bucky is facing the mattress and his ass in the air for Steve to pound. And Steve falls horribly silent after that. He starts thrusting and doesn’t complain when Bucky buries his mouth in the mattress. Clint’s cut-off snivels and sobs increase because, obviously, he’s figured it out, at long last. Steve is silent, but the force brought with every one of his thrusts is too robust for Bucky’s delicate-made body to handle that his anus starts to drip blood down his thighs, but Steve doesn’t even stop for a breather.

Bucky finally finds himself begging for some mercy. “S-slower… Steve…” he whimpers into the mattress. “You’ll… break me…”

“I’m just getting it over with,” Steve counters, acidly.

Bucky has no retort ready up his sleeve, and the pain keeps him hushed for the moment. This sick man will always try to twist his words to what fits his mood, and Bucky will always end up hurt. This is Steve’s place, everything will go the way the man wants it to.

The clapping of the wet skins, the low moans and whimpers, and the grunts Steve makes every time Bucky clenches around him horrifies Clint. The sounds and the scene of Steve fucking Bucky’s ass enchant Tony’s cock, and it is soon springing up ready for action too.

“St… Steve…” Bucky sobs into the mattress now. The pain, the throb in his lower body is too overwhelming by now, and he fears the numbness that will follow. The stench of copper in the back of his nose is the evident telltale of the blood resulted from his anus getting stretched by sheer force. “You’re… breaking me… Steve… it hurts…”

Steve bellows. “Shut the hell up already!” he shouts, now clenching his fist in Bucky’s hair, yanking it up until Bucky grunts from the sudden and jarring wrench of his muscles. “You’re so annoying, talking and talking. I just want to have some quiet time. Is that so fucking much to ask!”

Bucky’s body stills. Steve always barks orders, tells him to get on his knees or to suck him off… he’s never, however, ordered Bucky for something so simple as to stop talking. And he’s certainly never yelled it. So, he knows. He knows Steve isn’t bluffing, and can break his neck just because he doesn’t like the constant talking. “Alright,” he says breathlessly, trying to appease the other’s anger because Steve’s unpredictable actions cost him dear. “Okay, Steve, okay” –he swallows his drool– “do whatever you want.”

Steve is still panting after his rant, but soon he leans his forehead on Bucky’s hair, closing his eyes. “Just… don’t talk, okay?”

Bucky nods quickly.

Steve resumes his merciless, clumsy, lust-laden pistons, bringing Bucky over the verge as the man eventually closes his eyes and surrenders to complete darkness. Steve still fucks him in the ass, arms taut on either side of Bucky’s shoulders and his hips snapping as he thrusts into the mess of precum and blood. And yet, he still doesn’t cum.

“Steve,” Tony speaks for the first time, his gruff voice breaking the dreadful silence heavy with Clint’s low sobs and Steve’s loud pants. “He requires medical attention.”

“Get out,” Steve orders. “Take Clint to his room; you leave too.”

Tony bows his head slightly and drags a devastated Clint by the elbow. The two walk out of the room, and the door closes.

Now that he is wrapped in some much-needed privacy with his unconscious captive, Steve finally lets his emotions take hold of him. He draws his cock out from the mess he created, but a long string of red blood and white cum still wants to connect him to the twitching and torn hole. He chuckles. This is his doing–this power he has in his hands, where he can break or save someone. He can’t believe he’s just come to this room after a successful brain surgery, and now he failed this. He can’t say it’s on purpose, but he wonders if it isn’t.

Bucky is lying limply beneath him, lax hands by his sides and his face lying on his cheek. His hair is a mess, his back is a mess, and heck, his ass is a messier mess.

Steve moans.

He couldn’t come before because he didn’t want it to happen, but now, he can finally re-live something he used to find pleasure in, something Bucky taught him.

He flips Bucky on his back, taps at his cheek until Bucky groans and gasps awake. He hushes him when Bucky flails uncoordinatedly. “Shh,” he says atop him. At the peering figure, Bucky tenses and tries to wiggle his way away, but Steve holds him down. “Listen. Hey listen, there’s a 4-5-inch lesion in your canal, and you need surgery.”

Bucky frowns at him.

Steve bites his bottom lip and pushes his fingers through Bucky’s hair; then he ducks down to his ear. His other hand moves downwards. “You hear that?”

Bucky listens in, and then he hears it, the sound of Steve’s hand rubbing the cock that has assaulted him.

“You hear it?” He breathes out shakily, grunting in between. “That’s the sound of my wet cock, Bucky. It’s so wet for you,” he moans. “Fuck, I’m so hard again, so hard and wet.”

The wet clapping echoes and Bucky gulps.

“Bucky,” Steve moans, rests his forehead on the other’s cheek.

Bucky, as though hypnotized, pushes Steve off him gently until he is on four again with Steve sitting on the mattress. Then he crawls his way to Steve’s cock, rubs his face on it before he takes it between his plump lips.

Steve groans. “Oh yeah…” he moans. “You wanna taste it?”

Bucky plunges on the cock, taking it deeper. His ass is in the air with all the sticky fluids running down his inner thighs and tainting the white mattress red. He flaps his tongue on the head of the cock before sweeping it in his mouth again.

Steve grunts, “Oh fuck. Take it deeper.”

Bucky sucks on the cock with fervor, keens on its crown because it’s big and thick, and his jaw is slowly feeling the strain.

Steve plays with Bucky’s hair. “You like how I taste, don’t you? I’m so hard for you,” he coaches. “Slap it on your face, Bucky.”

Bucky ends the sucking with a wet plop, and he taps the cock on his lips. He glances up and finds Steve eating him up with those dangerous eyes. And then he brings his fingers to brush Bucky’s hair in false gentleness.

“Eyes so cold,” he remarks as Bucky ghosts lips on the hard cock. “Eyes that look like that only at me, a hatred that is harbored for me raw lust and a body of beauty given only to me,” he marvels, “just me.” He gives a triumphant smirk. “Do you remember last time I came here?”

Bucky licks the precum but doesn’t look away from Steve’s eyes.

“We didn’t just fuck,” he says, “didn’t just have sex.”

Bucky pulls away from the cock altogether so he can sit up, precum rolling down his chin.

Steve pins the other to the mattress to mount him. Wordlessly, Bucky folds his knees to his chest and parts them for Steve who brings his cock to Bucky’s rim, lining it against the abused entrance.

“Oh Bucky, you were feverish, so you probably don’t remember,” he says, “but we made love.” Saying so, he pushes his cock into Bucky and watches with delight how Bucky’s phlegmatic face scrunch and grimace in pain. Steve moans so deeply. “And you were fucking amazing.”

Steve is thrusting into his captive with less force but more technique. He does it very slowly, and he even grinds into Bucky every time the latter whimpers. He shifts so that he is peering down at Bucky with his arms braced on both sides of his face.

“Open your eyes, Buck,” Steve breathes out. “Look at me.”

Bucky parts his eyelids, and his bleary eyes look up at the green in Steve’s as though waking up from a trance. At the eye-contact, something in Bucky somersaults and his cock gets harder despite the incapacitating pain radiating from his backside. He brings his hands each to the ones braced next to each side of his face, and he clasps them around Steve’s wrists. He gradually loosens his pressed lips and allows his moans to do as they want.

Steve’s delighted face glints and he picks up his pace and grinds harder against Bucky’s prostate. Bucky, lying beneath the man and helpless, makes soft moans that soon morph into pleasurable whimpers.

“Bucky you were made for me.” Steve groans, his thrusts rocking Bucky’s body. “Whether you want to believe it or not, you were made for me.”

Bucky lets out an enchanting shout when his cum shoots out of his cock and coats his chest. However, Steve doesn’t stop because the after-twitching teases his own cock, and he quickens his pace. Beneath him, Bucky is sobbing and whimpering, but uttering no word of complaint. It all but excites Steve even more, and he doesn’t know how much more he can do. How long before Bucky finally cracks under strain beneath him, and does he want to test it out?

He looks very closely at Bucky’s lips as they quiver; he watches as those lips get chewed on by Bucky’s teeth, how they part and press on one another. Soon enough, Steve is leaning down, pressing his lips on Bucky’s. And at the mere contact, he spurts his cum, filling Bucky’s insides. Steve pulls away from the press of their lips. His eyes roaming over Bucky’s face and the lines crossing over it in a vague expression, and he doesn’t understand it. He can’t.

The brunette brings his hands to his face to hide it–whatever it is, and he cries.

Steve watches intently how tremors rack Bucky’s body as he cries and snivels like a child, and he brushes his hair from his clammy forehead when beads of sweat roll down Bucky’s forehead. His hand absorbs the heat coming off of Bucky’s skin.

“You’re so beautiful.”

 

 

 

All of that happened almost five days ago. Now, Bucky has completely healed from his injuries, and no new injuries have been inflicted on him. Tony is the one who has been tending to him all this time. Steve came by only once to check on Bucky’s wound before he deemed it cured. He prescribed more bed rest for him, and then vanished without a word. Whether because he feels remorse or not, Bucky isn’t going to debate it–when it comes to that psycho, things like guilt get sieved out. The only thing that’s probably been keeping him from harassing Bucky lately is his work upstairs. Today, Bucky is going to kick off his escape plan to their freedom.

 

 

He is still on the mattress, but these days Tony chains both his wrists, not his neck.

It would have worried him tremendously if it mattered, but it doesn’t. And what the bigger man is clueless about is that, besides leaving the lights on, leaving a first aid box lying around someone who has been subjected to all sorts of torture your brain can conjure up is, indeed, a very stupid mistake to make.

Using his foot, Bucky drags the small white box to him and knocks it over with his foot, making the contents inside fall out. He uses his big and index toes to pick out a 90 millimeter c-shaped needle. He manages to pick it up despite the slippery skin sweating due to the exertion his body hasn’t gone through since the day he was locked in here. He bows his head to take the needle between his lips now, determined to pick the damn keyhole of the chains binding his wrists.

Although he is failing tremendously, he keeps on trying, again and again, fed up with the fact that his glenoids are sore to the core. Besides, with all these triggers–from malnutrition to stress, to being threatened every single day–why isn’t he seizing already? He puts all his motions on hold to think about this for a precious moment, why hasn’t he seized lately?

 

He resumes picking the lock, and in an unpredictable, glorious moment, he hears the muffled click of the lock and then it comes undone. He frees his hand and takes the needle from his lips to try to open the other. It’s quicker with five digits, so it’s unlocked in a few seconds.

With the needle in hand, he scrambles onto legs that almost buckle under him at the surge of adrenaline. He won’t think. He won’t employ strategies or connect dots. This time, he’s going to act. He shoots to the door and elates when it opens. He finds that he is still in the same hallway, so he trudges stealthily towards the room of his friend, inwardly praying he didn’t get moved from it to some other ward. He finally reaches the door and uses the needle to open it. He peeks inside and finds Clint perched on a brown chesterfield, wearing another pair of shorts and plain T. He dashes to him, and Clint’s expression lightens upon seeing him. He springs up with open arms, and Bucky hugs him.

“We need to leave now,” he urges, “before they find out we’re missing.”

Clint nods affirmatively, picks out a long bathrobe and flings it to Bucky, who wears it over his boxers. “Let’s get outta this hellhole.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

The rush of the adrenaline is making his limbs jerky like an addict’s short of his drug of choice as he and Clint scuttle on tiptoes between the labyrinths of hallways. Bucky has made sure he locked Clint’s door before embarking on the stealth run. And as they crouch behind a wall, peaking at what resides behind it, he can see his friend from the corner of his eyes examining him with such an intensity that he’d picked up on without actually having to see him. He knows what’s spinning in that observant head of Clint’s. Well, he was there when that monster fucked him unconscious and he heard the noises he made. Bucky can’t really tell how much of that has really traumatized his friend the most but he is betting on the whole frigging part. But right now they don’t have time for the side glances and the worried eyes, they’ve taken a bold decision and if they’re found out, it’s not going to be pretty.

There’s a woman in a white lab coat, Mrs. Potts. Bucky still remembers –of course he would remember someone who tossed him to the hungry wolves like he was a lab rat. She is talking with someone on a flip phone, and she seems too immersed in the conversation she doesn’t notice the two childhood friends behind the wall.

“We gotta find those stairs, Buck.” Clint urges fervently, owlish eyes bugging out.

“Stairs?” he echoes.

“You were too out of it, so you don’t remember,” he explains, pupils never leaving the woman’s back. “When they brought us here, they led us down some stairs; we were blindfolded, so we never knew where we were headed.”

“By ‘we’ you mean you and Natasha?” Bucky prompts.

“You were hauled downstairs by someone too,” He steals a quick glance at him before ushering at the woman with his head. “Do we rip her a new one or look for another way?”

Bucky looks back at Mrs. Potts. “We don’t wanna attract attention,” he tells him. “Steve is usually busy at this time of the day, and Tony must be getting ready to come down to my room. He’ll find I’m not there, and we’ll get caught up in stuff we don’t want,” he says. “Let’s look for another way.”

Clint’s breath hitches slightly, and Bucky hears it.

“What is it?” he demands.

“So that bastard has been coming to your room every day?” He staggers, his voice a crack. “You mean to tell me you’ve been enduring the same thing ever since we were brought here?”

Bucky presses his lips curtly before he holds his friend’s arm by the elbow. “We don’t have time for this,” He enunciates. “Did you hear any words I just said? That bastard must be heading to my room by now.”

The weirdest thing about this place, beside the dungeon and locking people in to revel in their pain, there are no CCTV cameras around, which is odd considering that many things could go wrong. Just take their breakout for example. Yet Steve never thought it through. Makes you wonder if it’s a blunder or Steve planned it out to be like this from the get-go. But as far as Bucky is concerned, he just wants a way out, and no cameras mean no one is watching. No one is watching means he and his friend can run for it without having to worry about any of Steve’s men breathing down their neck.

Clint suddenly halts dead mid-step and Bucky bumps into his back; he looks where the other is looking and finds an EXIT neon sign mounted on a white-wooded door.

“That’s got to be it.” Clint muttered with his legs already carrying him towards the direction of the door.

Bucky rejoices for a second because that’s the freaking door to their freedom. He soon frowns however; something isn’t right. Something is definitely not right about all this because why would Steve put a ‘freedom’ sign on that door that would attract any runaway like a bacon, unless it’s a…

“Clint, wait!” With panic tilting his voice, he called out for his friend whose hand is on the knob. “Don’t open that door!”

But Clint’s hand is already twisting the knob and perking his ears up at the slow creak of the door in the somehow poignant silence. Bucky can’t move away from his spot, too scared and too anxious. His entire body is tense, ready for what might come. Clint’s eyes follow what’s inside because Bucky can’t see it from his angle, and he watches with a scowl how his friend’s face lightens up with a wide smile. Maybe Bucky was wrong after all; maybe that door wasn’t a trap to ensnare them. But his relief was curtailed when this young man ducked out from the door, dimples pronounced and pupils so grayed. Now he understands why Clint smiled so affectionately like that; it’s because the young man is their friend Edwin, the young man who went back with Sam to get help but was never heard from after. Until now it seems.

“Ed!” Clint throws himself into the taller man’s arms. “I’m so glad you’re alive, man! I’m so happy!”

The way Edwin cups the middle of his shoulder blades in false reassurance is too unsettling for Bucky not to consider, and then he eyes Edwin’s casual, clean clothes and clean hair. He doesn’t know if being sealed away in that room enhanced his ability to sniff out the evil but a part of him knows Edwin isn’t what he seems to be. He doesn’t know how he knows that or how he even concluded to that, he just knows it in his bones. He quirks a smile, trying to play Edwin into believing he was coming up to him for the same thing Clint went for, but when he reaches them, he shoves Edwin off and pulls a vexed Clint through that door, clambers frantically up the stairs they must have talked about earlier.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” Clint berates, “why did you do that! That’s Edwin! He’s alive and kicking,” he squirms to yank his hand from Bucky’s. “We should go back and get him!”

Bucky doesn’t stop in his track as he finally finds another door and shoots through it with his friend half scurrying half dragged. The scent of bleach collides with their noses, especially Bucky’s that has scented nothing lately but the coppery twinge of his blood and bitter smell of ejaculate. This side of this mansion, house, whatever it is, is pumping with life. There are more people in this place that looks like the interior of some treatment center, normal citizens who don’t seem interested in them and aren’t crouching with machetes or bows to hurt them. Clint is silent too as he inspects the place, but then he feels Bucky walking again, still dragging him. Bucky knows Edwin will trail them down, and he doesn’t know why but he doesn’t want to be found by him. He takes the left turn and comes to a stop, Clint bouncing back and forth with the impact. He peers up at his friend with reproach, but his words are lost from him when he sees the pallor of Bucky’s face turning dangerously paler. His eyes and lips parting impossibly wide, and if Clint didn’t know better, he’d have thought that was terror in his eyes. When he looks at what’s causing it, he is certain that that’s terror in Bucky’s eyes.

Steve Rogers, the man he saw beating his friend to a pulp back in the woods and get an erection from Bucky’s seizure is standing right in front of them in an open lab coat with two file folders in a hand, the other is in his pocket. He is cocking his head at their clothing with his brows crinkling.

The two friends freeze in the same spot, unable to move or even twitch.

Clint, for a brief moment, hears his friend’s breathing slowly getting out of control and his grip on his arm tightens so much he  _almost_ winces; the fact that he can’t move his eyes from Steve aborts it.

Steve takes a step towards them and the friends flinch but do not budge. When he is finally standing a stride-length away, he parts his lips to talk. Clint is sure that his friend is following every movement with intensity shouting from every fiber in him.

“Who’re you?” Steve asks, confusion whirling in his eyes. “Are you patients at this clinic?”

Bucky’s breathing is a joke by now, and Clint wonders if his lungs are about to explode.

Steve shifts on his feet. “I’m sorry, but you don’t look alright,” he tells Bucky, a crease building over one of his brows as he furrows it. “If you want, you can check yourself in?”

They hear the sudden rumbling of a distant door shutting, several pairs of feet stomping and screeching on the tiled floor before they hear ‘we need to find them’ gritted out in a finite order. Clint faces the source of the noise knowing Bucky can’t  _–won’t_ take his eyes off Steve’s for whatever it is because the biggest threat is standing in the flesh right before him– and he sees Edwin coming towards them, he feels tears burn in his ducts; for the first time, he can see the wickedness in Edwin’s eyes who’s tracking them like a predator.

Steve looks away from Bucky and at the one coming at them, and he lifts a hand to stop Edwin probably but sees from the corner of his eyes how Bucky flinches, so he stills.

“What’s going on here?” he demands once Edwin is standing before them. “What’s all this about?”

“Steve…” Bucky’s voice croaks out while his eyes tremble upon a tiny smidgen of something dry on the floor. He guesses it’s plaster; he has no idea why it’s on the floor though, not that it matters, right? Because… because Steve is standing right in front of him, elatedness is taking precedence over the daunting air he usually emanates whenever he is standing above Bucky, inflicting pain or employing torture on him. “You fucking bastard,” he grits out, “stop pretending!”

Steve’s confusion deepens as he takes his hand out of his pocket and straightens up a little, “Look, there’s no need for you to get upset at me for no apparent reason. I’m not trying to harm you. Whatever happened with my staff member over there, you can trust me when I say I have no idea what’s going on.”

Bucky shakes his head, his legs taking him rearward to the wall behind. “No…” he whines disbelievingly, “this can’t be…” Was it all a dream? Was it all just a bad dream and now he has finally woken up and has to find his way out of it, or just what, exactly? “This isn’t happening…”

“Are you–” Steve approaches him a little but Clint steps in between them.

“Keep your filthy hands off my friend, you monster.” Clint bites out like a wounded animal.

“Young man,” Steve lifts placating hands yet again, folders going up as well. “I mean him no harm.” He says, “I’m a doctor here, so maybe I can help. He doesn’t look okay.”

Just then, Bucky clutches at his head from both sides and lets out a rumbling scream that echoes off in the hall and startles everyone within earshot, including Steve and Clint who are the nearest. Clint swivels around and fixates his friend with a terrified gaze, coerced into silence as Bucky slides down to his knees, hands still clutching at his head as he lets out broken wails now. Clint almost looks over the glaring inconstancy of his friend falling to his knees and shouting himself hoarse in favor of ripping into Steve for the time he witnessed him maltreating his friend and for all the times he didn’t but still knows happened. But the broken wailing is slowly morphing into snivels, and Clint can’t take it anymore, but just as he finally decides on bringing his friend to his chest to shower him with some warmth, Steve beats him to it. He watches with awe how Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and whispers soft reassurances into his ear.

 

“Nebula!”

Clint faces the source of the shout and finds the woman they saw downstairs dashing towards them, red-bottoms click-clacking on the ceramic flooring. Then he hears it, the words uttered, irrevocable and derogatory in their brunt. He cannot snatch them, alter them or change them after they land harshly on Bucky’s ears.

“Were you trying to run away from me, Bucky?” the smoky voice asks, acidly. “You fucking whore, you never learn.”

Clint quickly reels his head towards Steve, who is still hugging Bucky, speaking those words into his ear. And the most unbelievable thing is… Bucky stills completely between those caging arms.

“Don’t touch him,” Clint clenches his fists. Then he is a little surprised when Edwin comes up behind him and holds him from both shoulders. “What’re you doing? Let go!”

Steve lets out a bitter sigh after eyeing the patients peering at them from every side. “They’re making a scene,” he says, gesturing to the two friends. “Let’s take them back downstairs first,” he glowers at his secretary and Edwin with eyes that send them to a cold sweat. “I’ll deal with all of you later.”

 

*******

 

The two childhood friends are shepherded back downstairs by Edwin and Steve to the same hole they finally managed to crawl out of. Mrs. Potts has excused herself before disappearing into another room and leaving the two men to their fun. Clint is momentarily threshing under the pressure Edwin is applying on his shoulders as he clasps him tight. When he glances over at his friend, he finds Steve guiding him, pushing him by the neck and Bucky’s uncooperative body backlashes every single rough time. They walk them through the door Edwin came out from and towards another under Steve’s order and watchful eyes.

“Buck,” Steve coaxes after they stop by that foreign door. “Hey, Bucky” he taps Bucky’s cheek to ground him, “snap out of it.”

Bucky’s glossy pupils roll and finally land on Steve’s, and at the sight of evil eyes looking back at him, something in Bucky’s awakes to full alertness. He hisses his way to consciousness and hardens his glare at the man.

Steve smiles wickedly. “That’s more like it.”

“Edwin, what the hell are you doing?” Clint reproaches, “Why are you doing this?”

Steve and Bucky look to the other two’s direction, and Steve chirps. “Oh, let me introduce you” he starts, “Edwin is a ‘trainee’ signed under my care.” He says, now wrapping an arm around Bucky’s neck and relishing the sensation of his shudder coursing nonstop. “He’s been working here for two years now.”

Clint pales and his round eyes glare at the friend who betrayed them. “What’s the meaning of this!”

“Oh, and he’s even been assigned to a job too,” Steve gushes on, ushering to the foreign door.

Edwin opens it at the gestured order, and keeps his grip strong on Clint’s forearm.

“Let’s take a look inside, shall we?” Steve suggests with an odd air of glee about him.

Again, merry moods indicate trouble.

Edwin and Clint step into the room first with Steve and Bucky following. Bucky, in next to no time, faints to the back and flops on Steve’s chest, the man who proves to have a little grace in him as he holds Bucky up by the shoulders with his two hands. Clint is soon doubling over and retching onto the cemented floor.

Inside the room, they find Natasha’s collapsed body hung on meat-hooks, covered in wounds, scratches and belt welts. Cascaded by fresh and dry blood. The entire room smells of death, and no amount of bleach can mask that.

“Get a grip,” Steve coaches, lifting Bucky up. “She’s still alive,” He provides, and quickly adds as an afterthought “I think.”

Just then, Tony walks into the room and takes hold of Clint as Edwin is ushered to step aside by Steve himself. The order, though, doesn’t stop there. Edwin walks up to where Natasha’s body is mounted, and he unhooks her from the wall and drops her down. They all watch as the wounded body falls lifelessly onto the cemented floor.

“Listen up,” Steve starts, the two friends’ stomachs stir up, and they whip their heads to the psychotic man, “I can let Clint walk outta that door free as a bird.”

Bucky releases himself from Steve’s hold but, really, it’s only because the man allows him. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what you heard,” Steve replies, now stuffing his side pockets with his hands. “I’m willing to let him go, but on one condition.” And as everyone anticipates, but Bucky with more anxiety than hopefulness –because he knows what trusting Steve’s words would do to him, said man drops the bomb. “Bucky has to stay.”

“I refuse!” Clint interjects, doggedly.

“I wasn’t asking you.” Steve rolls his eyes at him in response.

Deciphering his meaning now, everyone’s, including Clint’s of course, gazes aim Bucky’s.

“Why should I trust anything you say?” Bucky demands, “How can I know for sure that this isn’t some other ploy of yours where you lead me on and then turn it into a game?”

“I told you I kept him unscathed,” Steve shrugs, “He can now walk free with no scratch, but of course, if he tries something, my men will soon be on him. Your lovely ear might get parceled to his place too, or maybe an eye?”

“You bastard!” Clint tries to shoot towards Steve, but Tony’s hold on him is ridiculously stronger.

“I suggest you keep quiet if you want us to get to an agreement here,” Steve warns him, playfully, “after all, I am doing this for you.”

If Clint does walk out of this place free and unscratched, then Bucky’s efforts to bear with the humiliation so far weren’t for naught. Steve won’t have his trump card to lay it out in play every time he tries to get his way into Bucky’s pants. Although it sounds too selfless of Steve to do this so out of the blue, of course, he can’t be doing it out of the goodness of his heart so it means he has something else up his sleeves. But Bucky can deal with one thing at a time, and he is not going to waste a chance like this. He isn’t that stupid.

“Fine,” Bucky grits out, “I’ll stay.”

“Bucky, you idiot!” Clint bellows. “I don’t wanna go and leave you here!”

It’s going to pierce his heart for a few days, but Clint is smart. He’ll figure out how to adapt pretty soon, and Bucky places his utmost trust in him. It’s sad to see him like this, and he can’t even imagine what his parents could be going through right now. So if one of the children is back sound and safe, unlike so many, Clint parents’ grief may diminish bit by bit, and that’s all Bucky cares about. Damn it, he misses his parents.

“Listen here, Clint,” Bucky’s voice is steady and hopeful, but his eyes are on the floor, downcast and foggy. “I want you to graduate. I want you to get a job and meet someone, and I want you to have lots of kids.”

Clint wails a ‘no, please, stop’.

“But forget about me,” his voice almost cracks at that, “forget you ever had a childhood friend, please. I’m asking you, Clint, live your life and make me proud.”

“Oh, that was so beautiful,” Steve scoffs after a pause, wiping an eye, “I even shed a tear.”

Bucky glowers at him.

Steve smirks at him.

“Should we take our leave now?” Tony inquires.

“Take him out of here,” Steve waves off a hand, “and make sure he doesn’t forget the terms of our agreement.”

Tony pulls a devastated Clint from there, and Bucky watches with a pair of hurt eyes the image of his friend because that’s the last he is going to see of him. It’s alright, a little price to pay for something so overwhelmingly big. Clint deserves to live happily, actually all of his friends did but that doesn’t fall under the same heading now that most of them are either blown off, decapitated or beheaded, or –he glances over at Natasha’s almost unrecognizable face–  _that_.

“Now,” Steve lets out a heavy sigh, taking his hands out of his pockets to wrap them over his chest defensively. “Should we wake her up? I kind of don’t want her to miss the party again, not after you went through the trouble to come all the way here to pay a visit” –he flashes an eerie smile now to Bucky’s direction– “I also want to confide something in her.”

At that, Edwin resumes the work of slapping Natasha’s face a few times until the girl beneath squirms and groans ashore. Her eyes slowly start to open, beholding the assaulter standing atop her. Beyond him, two men she comes to recognize after another inspection by her bruised eyes.

“Bucky …” She croaks out, trying to sit up but her body is too sore and all she manages to do is sit hunched. “Y-you’re alive?”

Bucky wishes he wasn’t.

“Let’s skip that, shall we?” Steve states, begrudgingly. “Now,” he walks up to Natasha and grasps a fistful of her red hair to yank it, forcing her to look up. He has the utter gall to look apologetic. “Natasha, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

Bucky scowls at the maniac.

“You see Bucky over there,” he flicks his wrist to motion at the direction of the man. “He made a bet on your life, yours for Clint’s.”

“What?” Bucky exclaims.

“What,” Steve lifts his chin, openly challenging. “Are you going to deny the fact that you’ve never asked how Natasha was holding up, if she was dead or alive?” he asks. “Didn’t you and your friend try to jailbreak just half an hour ago, didn’t care if Natasha was left behind?”

This man, just what is he, a snake in disguise?

Just what the hell is he made of?

“That’s…” Bucky’s words fail him.

“Natasha,” Steve speaks again, “Clint was allowed to leave, in exchange for your life.”

“No, that’s not true!” Bucky is vehement in his denying. “You’re full of shit!”

“Quiet, Buck,” Steve’s movements are slow as he shushes the other with a finger on his lips, “I’m talking now.”

Bucky gulps down his retort.

“So I was saying,” Steve resumes after looking away from Bucky’s eyes with a smirk plastered on his lips. “Clint is free now thanks to your sacrifice. He’s outside these walls. I’m serious, ask Bucky.”

The two look up at the man, and all he does is shake his head dazedly. “Y-you’re…” he almost falters but, thankfully, his anger pulses again. “You’re not just evil, Steve.” He says, “You’re the devil himself.”

“So are you going to deny that I let your friend walk out?!” Steve barks until everyone flinches.

“No, but it was on no one’s expense but mine!” Bucky counters, tenaciously.

Steve dips his chin for a daunting moment before he barks a laugh. He lifts up to his feet, thrusts his hands into his pockets and lets out a little sigh. “Your adherence to decorum is quite a joke, Buck.” He bites out, “perhaps you’re yearning for that whip again.”

Bucky quickly shakes his head, “I’m…” he starts, but Steve’s raised hand forestalls whatever he wanted to say.

“Save it.” He says, he uses that lifted hand to motion to Edwin. “Gimme your knife.”

Bucky fists his hands and holds his ground, eyes wide and wary. But Steve simply puts the knife in Natasha’s hand and withdraws from the girl’s space, action unhurried. Natasha weighs the knife in her hand like it’s an item she’s never seen in her life until now, and then she looks up at Bucky who is shaking his head at her, willing her to at least doubt what the killer has told her. Then she tries to stand on her aching legs.

“Nat…” Bucky’s voice is faint, “don’t trust a word he says.”

“Quit whining, Buck,” Steve breathes out, dismally. “Take it like a man.”

Easy for you to say when nobody’s aiming a knife at your guts. Bucky hasn’t forgotten how to fight in close combats and, although Steve did take him out in no time really, he can still take out someone with Natasha’s body shape. He can even make use of the girl’s unstable physical state. But even if it’s looking up to his side he still doesn’t want to fight Natasha over something so worthless like Steve’s misguided advice.

“Natasha, you have to believe me.” Bucky tries again despite Steve’s warning. “Why am I here then? If what he’s saying is the truth, then explain to me why I’m still here!”

“Easy,” Steve answers for him, “because the deal was one person.”

Bucky blows out a weary sigh, “It’s not true!” he whines, “Natasha, he just wants to see us fight, that’s all. It’s true Clint left, but the only deal I made with him was me staying behind.” He reasons, “I’m not making any of this up. Please, you have to believe me.”

And Natasha, as though in a trance, slowly drops the knife. “So he’s out?” She grins, showing blood sputtered teeth. “Good.”

Steve chuckles, and the vibration in it attracts everyone’s attention. Steve doubles over and lets out another laugh. His shoulders rocking; it’s the first time Bucky actually sees the maniac expressing his demented amusement like a run-of-the-mill villain. “I’m sorry,” he says, now straightening up, “it’s just… this is so fucking boring. I just thought of another idea, and I must say, it makes me quite happy.”

Bucky and Natasha shudder visibly when Steve flashes a smirk.

“Okay, enough games,” he says, “Bucky, there’s something you need to know.”

Bucky is too scared to even twitch a brow as he stands still at his spot.

“Edwin there” he nods at the young man who perks up at his name being mentioned, “He’s the one who set you up.” He confesses, “He’s the reason all your friends are dead.”

“Mr. Rogers,” Edwin speaks for the first time, “What’s the meaning of this?”

Bucky’s eyes settle on Edwin, rage and fury roving inside him like waves crashing on rocks.

Steve silences him so he can speak. “You think the car trip was Sam’s idea? Not a chance. That guy was too stupid to come up with something like that. It was our Edwin here all along –he planned it out from the get-go.”

Bucky’s –and he’s pretty sure even Natasha’s breathing is labored by now.

“He brought you guys to your doom.” His voice is harsh, resonating between these walls like the absolute voice of reason. “It’s his fault, all of it!” he is yelling fiercely by the end of it.

Bucky shoots towards the knife Natasha dropped and seizes it in his hand. Natasha shouts a desperate ‘no, don’t!’ as she watches with horror how Bucky leaps to Edwin’s direction, the knife coming down with him and aiming Edwin’s heart.

He’s going to pierce it… by God. He’s going to finish off the bastard who set them up. Bucky’s rage multiplies… the bastard who killed so many people and robbed them of their youth; who caged him here, brought him down to his knees, begging…

Edwin stands stupefied before the knife as it comes down with such speed and then it soon pierces something that squelches against the force: flesh, Bucky can tell. The scent of fresh blood, sickening and never easy to get used to, permeates the air. Bucky parts his eyes when he hears the pained groan, and what he sees does not really bring him even a scrape close to vengeance.

Natasha is standing between him and Edwin, barely. Bucky feels the girl’s faint breath falling on his lips, their faces before each other’s. Bucky lets out a muted sob.

“W-what… you…” he chastises, his eyes quivering into Natasha’s kind, doleful ones.

Natasha coughs, and blood soon comes out of her small mouth splashing in torrents. And then she shakes her head, jadedly. “Don’t.” She utters, “Bucky, you’re… different.”

“No, no, no…” Bucky whimpers as he slowly lets go of the knife that is still planted into Natasha’s chest. He brings his blood-spattered hands to both of Natasha’s shoulder as the latter starts to teeter and hover over. He holds her still. “Natasha, no –Oh God what have I done?”

“Not you,” Natasha states. “You… are different.”

“Natasha, I just tried to kill the other bastard over there.” He cries, and tears slowly escape his eyes when Natasha rests her forehead on Bucky’s. “How am I so different? I just stabbed you –oh God! What do I do?”

Natasha’s knees buckle, falling to the floor on her back. Bucky is falling along with her.

“Bucky,” she blurts out through the coughs and the blood-plugged gullet. “Don’t fall.”

Bucky uses the angle of their position to staunch the blood with his two hands. “I’m so sorry, Nat, I’m so fucking sorry!”

Natasha, then, quirks a wide smile and it momentarily takes Bucky to a safety that could only be found in the redhead’s vicinity. And very slowly, Natasha stills completely with her eyes on the ceiling.

“Nat?” Bucky’s whisper croaks, “Natasha, don’t you dare, okay? I’m gonna stop the bleeding, just want you to stay focused for me, you get that?”

But Natasha slowly closes her eyes, and she never opens them again.

Bucky’s eyes flutter aimlessly. He looks over Natasha’s face, her body and then back to her strangely peaceful face. His pressure on the wound slowly eases as he retracts his hands back to him, shaking.

A clap, two more, and then a third before Steve cuts the silence. “Beautiful, very beautiful, Bucky,” he vouches with false amusement, “that was Oscar-worthy.”

Bucky’s still-trembling eyes scan his hands, too red, too sinful…

“You know what a coup de grace is, Buck?” Steve wonders, “It’s a merciful death blow, and you’ve administered that professionally, bravo.”

Bucky’s awareness comes back to him, but flawed. He looks up at Steve who cocks his head and awaits the oncoming verbal assault. Bucky manages to lever up to his feet, still a little wobbly after the rapid drain of adrenaline. “You think this is funny?” he chides, “A girl has just died! A girl you’d have saved, you sick son of a bitch!”

“I didn’t stab her.” Steve shrugs on a mock-pout, “you did.”

“I hate you.” Bucky grits out, acidly. “You’re sick, you’re disgusting, and I fucking hate you.”

Steve’s blasé demeanor morphs into something vague. Something that consists of furrowed eyebrows, doleful eyes and pained expression. And Bucky can’t believe it. “You…” Steve gulps, “you don’t mean that.”

“I hate you!” Bucky shouts until his voice cracks.

There was a table at the side lined for all these people who engrossed themselves with torturing Natasha, Steve knocks it over, letting go of a raged scream. He kicks the metallic items clanging on the floor and working on fueling his animalistic anger. Bucky is watching only, too scared to move. Edwin then decides to appease to the man vibrating with stirring wrath, but it’s too much of a wrong move as Steve gets a hold of a scattered circumcision knife and plunges it into the young man’s left eye, rotates it deeper the more Edwin struggles. Edwin crumbles to the ground in a dead-weight heap.

“You hate me?” Steve goads on with his velvety voice as he slowly reels around facing Bucky. “I guess it’s to be expected from an ungrateful whore like you. I mean” –he approaches Bucky’s impuissant body– “some men can’t help but chase the bitch.” He grabs hold of Bucky’s hair and starts dragging him somewhere else as the other winces and whimpers but does nothing to fight his way out of the other’s hold, before he suddenly pauses, not much of his face can be seen from Bucky’s angle. “I love you” he says, before he starts dragging Bucky along the hallway again, his voice rising up again in clear admonishment. “I fucking love you, and you’ll never find someone who loves you as much as I do!”

“Just end it,” Bucky says wearily, the bathrobe has fallen off his shoulders. “End it here and now, Steve, or I will.”

Steve then pauses in his tracks again, and this time, he gives Bucky’s head a hefty shove as he throws him against the wall until Bucky crashes against it violently and slides down with a groan. Steve is soon onto him, topping him and bringing down a punch after another, to Bucky’s cheek, jaw, head, chest, Bucky only need to name it.

 

 

After Bucky wakes up, he finds that many things are not as they seem because, what he thought was his older room turned out to be a bathroom of a sort. He is now reclining inside a claw tub, empty of any water. He is tied, both wrists strapped by a zip tie before his chest. And his face… when is he ever going to rid of the feeling of his face sore and beaten. Worse of all, Steve is keeping watch beside the bathtub, taunting eyes looking down on Bucky. The later, on his part, tries to scramble out of the tub because his legs aren’t tied, but every attempt fails immensely and all Bucky’s left to do is watch with awe how his legs buckle under him. It must be some sort of a nerve drug or something or else what could explain such a thing, and Steve is a neurologist so getting his hands on something like this –something that paralyzes you from the waist down, is highly likely.

“Let me go!” He demands. “You can’t do this to me!”

Steve turns deaf ears to Bucky’s wretched biddings with that infamous poker face of his and swivels towards the direction of stacked gallons on the right side of the bathroom. He unscrews the cap of the first gallon his hand falls on, and he brings it to the bathtub, pouring its content all over Bucky’s legs.

Bucky’s eyes widen at the realization that what’s been poured on him is blood, still warm.

After Steve empties the first gallon and tosses it aside, he smirks very deeply. “Smells nice, doesn’t it?”

Bucky’s entire body shudders, recoiling from everything.

Steve brings a second, pours its content into the tub. And another, and then another and all Bucky can do is watch as the blood reaches his middle before he loses his ground and is soon degenerated to a mess.

“Don’t do this,” he sobs, “I’ll be good, please, don’t do this to me.”

The blood level is soon reaching his nose, and Bucky can’t keep his mouth and nose above it since his legs have turned jelly without his constant. And by the last gallon tossed, Steve crouches beside the tub and fists Bucky’s hair, bringing it a little up so Bucky can breathe.

“You promised me that before,” he says, a sly smirk on his lips, “you promised me to be good and I trusted you.” At that, his smirk falls and, with a pair of empty eyes beholding his handiwork. Steve plunges Bucky’s head into the blood, forcing it under as the other resists, looking as though he wants Bucky to drown to his death but he soon brings it up again.

Bucky gasps and coughs.

“How does your friends’ blood taste like?” Asking so, Steve forces the other’s head under the blood again, and Bucky squirms to break from the suffocating pressure, but to no avail.

When Steve looks like he is done playing, he repositions Bucky so that he is lying with his arms outside the tub and armpits bracing on its rim. He is kneeling, his ass peeking out of the blood and Steve fondles it –slippery touch makes Bucky hiss. Steve stands from his crouch and gets into the bathtub, unzips his fly and immobilizes Bucky’s by the hips. And very slowly, he pushes the head of his cock into Bucky’s entrance, and he stops when Bucky winces audibly only to push all the way in, luxuriating in the impossible feeling of tightness stretching around him. He pounds hard in his tight hole with faint groans and moans from his part, loud sobbing from Bucky’s.

And then, he fucks Bucky’s ass senseless.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

 

“Rough…” Bucky murmurs with strain. He is crouching on four over the memory foam, and the next time he tries to speak through his staggered moans, a querulous cry escapes through his parted lips, “so rough.”

Steve endorses in the absolutely titillating sensation, taking no notice of Bucky’s tribulation of being brought to his knees, bearing his ass to a man who has no qualms giving him a 4 inch rectal fissure. And he doesn’t stop, he never stops. Once he gets his hips working, Steve doesn’t stop until he ejaculates, and sometimes, when he is in a good mood, he even fucks the cum out of Bucky until the latter is reduced down to nothing but a loud moaning mess.

When Steve finally pulls his cock out, the assaulted hole gapes in slight twitching. There’s a long trail of cum that connect the hole to the crown of Steve’s cock, and the psycho, he smirks.

 

This is how Bucky’s been spending his days ever since his friend left.

 

For one, he knows that as long as he stays locked behind these four walls, his future will remain obfuscated. But on the contrary, his friend can walk free under the sky. This is not something he’s been looking forward to: getting raped everyday is not exactly a wish to write on a graduation card, but again, if his friend is alive and well, safe and sound at home with his parents, then he can put up with it. That is, if he doesn’t eventually go out of his mind.

“Bucky,” Steve’s deep voice calls out, softly.

As though on auto mode, Bucky sits up and turns around, gazes emptily at Steve’s slick cock for a moment.

“Come on,” Steve coons, “you know the drill, Bucky. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Bucky flinches slightly at the revolting reminder. Really, cleaning Steve off with his mouth... is that how he’s going to spend his life?

“You know what,” Steve tilts his head a little, eyes narrowing with apparent incredulity. “I think you’re stalling on purpose, in fact, I think you want me to hurt you.” He concludes, “or else why the hell would you keep up the same attitude when I’ve beat it into you and told you countless times that I hate it when you keep me waiting.”

Bucky shakes his head unobtrusively, gaze softening. “I’ll do it.”

“Well,” Steve intones, “get on it.”

Bucky gulps his lump and ducks down, mouth hovering over Steve’s cock. Small lips that are grazed with a cut from the other day’s beating –which he can’t remember when because after his friend left, Steve’s been even more violent towards Bucky who, usually, receives the beating for rejecting something Steve asks of him to do. But what little defiance Bucky shows, Steve beats it to a scrape. His mouth opens around the meaty head oozing precum and very slowly takes the hard cock in –he takes it all in, and then he pulls back to tongue the head with abandon, repeating the process all over again, and again, managing to pull contented sighs from Steve’s mouth. Bucky is keeping his bobbing movement on the cock very gentle in part to not agitate the cut on his lips, and in part, to get Steve’s mind off of him.

“You’re really good at this,” Steve admires through his tunneled vision, a sense of pleasure washing over him, “a fucking natural.”

Bucky hums on the cock, knowing the vibration will do something to Steve. He likes it.

Steve gasps a little and shuffles to settles on his knees. He brings his hands to Bucky’s hair as the latter doesn’t break the connection between the cock and his mouth, and then Steve snaps his hips. “You’re a relict, Buck” He tells him when Bucky’s entire demeanor becomes taut. “You can take this.”

To his horror, Bucky feels Steve thrusting into his mouth, and then cold fingers parting his wounded lips wider to let more access to the thick cock. This isn’t the first time Steve does something so out of the blue like this, nor it is the second, or the third… but what makes this time different from the others is actually the cut on Bucky’s lip that could reopen and, adding to that, a cock pushing in to the back of his throat... the pain is not even in the range of bad, it’s beyond it. Steve rocks his hips back and forth, relishing the feeling with an expression of pure ecstasy on his face.

The more Bucky tries to pull his head off, the tighter the hold on his head becomes. The suffocating feeling is a lot worse than the rough stretching of his unprepared anus, and he feels death at the threshold of his floating consciousness, and does he want to let her in?

Hot cum suddenly shoots to the back of his throat, immediately clogging it. Respiration becomes futile because Steve is still not taking his cock out. Bucky’s eye pupils roll to the back and he slumps down, the cock still tucked between his lips as cum spills down the corners of his mouth.

 

 

 

Tony is here again, like always, he’s here to clean after Steve’s mess.

Bucky used to recoil, flinch and curse every time Tony’s fingertips as much as brushed against his skin. Now, he doesn’t even stir as the man scrubs his long legs with a damp cloth. Usually, Tony is brisk in his movements, but today… today he is rather gentle. The touch of a mother, of a lover, something Bucky’s been craving for ever since Steve tethered him here like a wild animal.

“You’re something.” Bucky mumbles, voice weak and almost comes off so raspy. “No matter what kind of mess Steve leaves behind, you’re always there to clean it up.”

“It’s what I’m getting paid to do.” Tony replies, robotically.

Bucky tilts his head, “so if I pay you, would you get me out of here?”

Tony’s hands stop at that and his eyes slide up, landing on Bucky’s.

“I’m saying I’m willing to pay.” Bucky urged, his hand tracking a long trail over his bruised torso, suggestively, teasingly…“I can read the way you look at me,” he sighs, “you want me.”

Tony’s brows tremble and his Adam apple bobs.

“I’ll pay you, so get me out of here.” Bucky prompts again, his tone cold.

 

He often heard people say he took after his father, and Bucky isn’t about to argue that. He knows he is almost the spitting image of his father, and there’s even little pride when people point the resemblance out, because his father is a good man.

After the accident, Bucky’s father didn’t confiscate his car keys, didn’t take away his laptop and didn’t ground him. Although, Bucky could easily chalk it up to his epilepsy, but something about the new glint in his father’s eyes, the way he looked at him with no reproach. From that point on, that’s the only thing that set Bucky on the right path.

So as he sits on this comfy sofa with his dad slouching back on the backrest next to him, watching the national team going for a penalty kick, he relishes the moment. For a reason, it feels ephemeral, for a reason, it feels like any moment and it’d be snatched away by some daunting power, and he doesn’t know. And although he can’t bring himself to tell his father about the fear festering inside his chest, he eventually decides fear of loss is common. He looks up at his father’s profile, loving the peacefulness of the man’s endorsement, the aberrantly assorted moles spreading out his neck and cheek, the curled lips and nose he got from him, and he suddenly feels remorse.

Fear and remorse fusing together...

“I know.” His father says, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. “You’re getting used to it.”

Bucky’s brows tremble and his eyes narrow at his father.

“Scary, isn’t it?” His father says again, “getting used to it.”

Bucky looks at the TV screen now, too.

“But Bucky,” he smiled, and Bucky isn’t sure if it’s because the team they’ve been rooting for has just scored or because of what he is about to tell him. “This darkness, it’s not perpetual.”

Bucky looks up again at his father, and this time his father looks back at him.

“We won.”

The front door rattles and Bucky’s eyes snap to it. His fear flares back to life again, more palpable with each rattle. He looks at his father whose face is slowly melting away, and he quickly recoils, hitting something solid and cold. He presses against it more, willing it to tip backward so he can flee away, but it’s still solid. Unbending, just like his new reality.

When the darkness gets swallowed by blinding light, Bucky trips back to the horrifying realization that his father, the couch, the homey house… all of that was just a dream.

“Bucky.” The maniacal doctor is standing at the downward frame of his mattress, lab coat over gray turtleneck sweater, black trousers and shiny loafers.

Bucky looks up at the man through bleary eyes, hating the look of triumph on his face.

“Were you planning to leave?” Steve asks, incredulous eyes peering down at his captive.

Bucky swallows thickly, shuffles to reposition himself on the solid wall he tried to press against earlier. The, he straightens his chained legs over the mattress, allowing them to feel the dried blood and cum against the skin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tony then appears into his peripheral vision, apathetic and silent, like he always is.

“Are you sure?” Steve drawls, playfully. “Because a little bird told me you wanted out.”

Bucky’s anxiety goes up a few notches. He glares at Tony for a moment, when the other looks elsewhere, Bucky looks back at Steve, defeated. “I’m…” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You even offered him your body as payment.” Steve’s green-blue eyes widen and his playful smirk tenses, “did you really think I wasn’t going to find out?”

Bucky quickly bows his head to Steve, “I’m really sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Won’t, huh?” Steve glowers, “you fucking liar.”

Bucky winces.

“On your knees, bend over.” Steve orders, taking off his lab coat.

“Please… I’m sorry…” Bucky’s voice croaked, voice strained with tears. Of course Tony wasn’t going to keep the little preposition to himself, of course he was going to let Steve in on it eventually. Bucky is a fucking idiot. “I’m so sorry.”

“Bucky,” Steve lets go of a bitter sigh, “stop saying sorry, you bastard, and kneel.”

Bucky shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut until a dam of tears roll down his cheeks. “I’m... sorry.”

Steve seizes his captive by the hair, which has grown to his shoulders, and he tosses him towards the mattress until Bucky groans, his injuries protesting at the maltreatment.

“Hold his hands.” Steve growled, now straddling Bucky’s back since the latter is lying flat on his stomach, face buried into the mattress.

Tony grabs hold of Bucky’s flailing hands and crosses them down before Bucky’s face, adding his own pressure on the limbs. Bucky hears rustling of trousers on his skin, before a gentle hand lands on his bruised shoulder blades, pushing him more into the dirty mattress.

His heart rate grows frantic and his breathing hitches when something cold and sharp sinks into the back of his left shoulder. “No, please.” He squirms, “please, stop! Steve! Don’t do this, please!”

“Whining and whining nonstop,” Steve gripes, jadedly. “You never learn, do you. How many times have I told you the pleading card never works on me, not anymore.” He tells him, “it’d have if you never broke your promises, but you always break them, and I’m not about to play into the hands of a whore who doesn’t even appreciate the lengths I go to in order to keep you in.”

Bucky shakes his head, his tousled, shoulder-length hair whirls about his face, tingling his upper-arms. “Please don’t, stop…”

Steve breathes out an impatient sigh through his nose, “Hold him down.”

Soon, the cold sharpness returns to touch the fevered skin of his back, sinking deeper and tearing his skin. Bucky lets out one pained scream after another. The feeling of his skin getting torn by whatever sharp object Steve is using is… it’s like the touch of tormenting death. Oh God, would death feel better than this? Is he really better off slumped on the mattress and lifeless. Would Steve still torture him and rape him, even dead?

Another flick of Steve’s wrist as he scrapes into the skin to engrave it wills a scream from Bucky, and soon tears stream down his face, infiltrating into his mouth. The taste is salty, and so is the scent of his blood. By the time Steve lifts the sharp thing off, Bucky sags down, all his joints relaxing, yet still shuddering. The burning throb coming from his shoulder blades is still radiating like bad sunburn.

Tony finally releases Bucky’s arms and retreats away.

The gauze Tony wrapped around Bucky’s forearm before because of a burn scar Steve had left on him slowly comes off. The recent cuts reopened and are now bleeding. And his arms are now covered in new hand marks that are sure to bruise for a while.

Bucky tenses again when Steve glides a hand towards his waist, lifting it off the mattress so that only his ass is in the air. Bucky’s fingers twitch but remain wilted next to his head.

“Inject him now.” Steve grits out.

Tony takes Bucky’s arm in his hand, the other fishes out a syringe from his pocket, and honestly, Bucky doesn’t even care at this point.

As the needle digs into the nook of Bucky’s elbow, a disquieting heat spreads out inside him. His body becomes hot, oh God, too hot.

“It’s working.” Steve notes out as he hovers over Bucky’s back.

“What the hell” –Bucky moans, clenching his fists on the fabric and repositioning his legs, wanting to tear himself apart from his body– “did you give me?”

“It’s an aphrodisiac, Bucky.” He replies in a brash manner. “You’ll feel better in a minute.”

And in a minute, Bucky isn’t only feeling better, he is feeling heavenly.

His cock stands erect, his nipples perk up and his tongue rolls off drool. His entire body is covered in sweat and the heat is growing unbearable, yet still tolerable.

Steve aligns his cock along Bucky’s rim, rubbing the crown against the puckered skin until Bucky keens.

“I… I don’t want this.” Bucky whimpers, clutching at the mattress until veins pop along his hand, “please, Steve, make it stop.”

“Don’t want to.” Steve simply shrugs.

The tip of Steve’s cock slowly digs its way in, and Bucky sucks in a sharp gasp. Steve stills and Bucky lifts his hips off the mattress, chasing after the cock teasing his entrance. He doesn’t know why his body isn’t obeying him, he can’t even think right with the way he’s feeling, because this isn’t right.

“In…” he mumbles on a low moan.

“Hum? What was that again?” Steve feigns ignorance. “’Didn’t quite catch that.”

Bucky lifts a hand and places it on one of his ass cheeks, he spreads it open and mewls, “stick it in deeper, you bastard.”

Steve licks his upper lip and settles on biting his tongue when it reaches the corner of his lips. He locks two vice-grips on either of Bucky’s hip before he slams his own and thrusts his cock in.

Bucky’s hand falls before him again as he lets loose a pornographic moan. He props on his elbows and sinks both his hands into his hair, clutching it to try to keep his moans stifled in.

“But that’s no fun, Bucky.” Steve whines, now grinding into Bucky’s G-spot. “I like your voice, let me hear it.”

“Oh yes,” Bucky sighs, “there, Steve, right there, fuck me harder.” His voice breaks right through his teeth into a litany of sexy moans, eliciting Steve and even making Tony hard under his pants. And judging by the size, it looks like any more and he’d burst.

Steve brings his mouth to Bucky’s ear, whispering sharply into it. “Look at him, he might as well cum in his pants just hearing you moan like a bitch in heat.” He says, snapping his hips more and causing Bucky a pleasurable shudder. “But you know what’d happen if he cums? You know what castration is, Buck? You’re a smart guy, I’m pretty sure you have an idea what I’m talking about.”

If what Steve is saying is that if Tony climaxes then he’ll get his dick removed, then Bucky is not really being intimidating.

“He ratted on me,” Bucky says through gritted teeth, “you can go ahead and mutilate him all you want. Heck, I’ll even lend a hand.”

Steve barks a laugh, now dropping his lips into Bucky’s neck, “You think I was intimidating you?”

Bucky falls silent, short for the moans that make their way out every now and then. “You weren’t?”

“No, you idiot.” He chuckles, now tonguing the carvings he made on Bucky’s back. “I was intimidating him.”

Bucky groans in agony beneath him.

“Well, Tony, you can feast your eyes.” He muttered, nibbling at the marks absentmindedly. “But he’s mine.” He said, “You hear me, Bucky? You’re my toy to break, and mine to fix.”

Bucky shakes his head, his clutch growing tighter on his hair. He doesn’t know if someone out there is listening, but he begs, he begs to be saved, anyone. He just wants to be saved. He feels the last piece of his pride shatter, and soon ominous hands are on him, bringing darkness over him with their stealth like smoke, dragging him down to a bottomless pit of nothingness. He knows now, he has reached the bottom of Steve’s darkness.

Bucky’s stomach lurches in instant horror as a flash of the dark days he’s spent being Steve’s toy played in his head. “I’ll kill you…” He bites out, “remember this, Steve Rogers.”

And soon, he shoots his load on the mattress.

 

“It’s hindering me.” Steve murmurs to himself as he fumbles with chocolate brown, unkempt hair. He is still straddling the back of a drained Bucky, playing with smooth strands.

The faintest of tremors reverberate across Bucky’s arms and back the longer Steve’s skin keeps brushing against his. Yet all he manages is a twitch. One of his arms is draped by his side and the other slumped next to his face. His eyelids fluttering to a slit as a stray tear slides down the length of his nose.

“Bring me some scissors,” Steve commands, distractedly. “As much as I want you to grow out your hair,” this he tells Bucky as the other man bustles about in the room. “But it’s in the way.” This time, he fondles Bucky’s cheek and the latter flinches, only slightly though. It’s as if he’s seen the hand coming to make contact with his face but he was still unable to rein in the reaction. A thumb is soon stroking the bone of his cheek ever so gently; it almost coaxes Bucky to sleep. “You tried to buy your way out, Bucky.” He starts, velvety voice talking in a whisper, “and I can’t overlook that, otherwise, you’ll keep trying.”

Bucky shudders when the thumb presses against his temple. Pep talk, really? The fucker just raped him senseless. God, his back is throbbing so bad, just what the hell did Steve carve on his skin?

“I checked on your friend by the way,” he tells him, conversationally.

Bucky’s eyes snap open, more focused as the blue irises tremble.

“He’s doing well, your entire family is, too.” Steve provides, and adds as an afterthought. “Better than you, actually”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better, how?” Bucky grits out, his voice raspy and a little scratchy.

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” Steve offers, “just name it.”

“I want to go home.” Bucky cries.

Steve leans into the hollow of Bucky’s neck, caressing in the lightest brush of his lips. “This is your home.”

“If you’re not going to give me what I want then why are you wasting our time with idle chatter,” Bucky retaliates, “If you want to bribe me into staying, I want nothing from a monster like you.”

Steve’s jaw hinges down, lips pursing and brows furrowing. “Is that so?”

“It is so.” Bucky replied.

Tony finally makes his way towards the mattress, handing the scissors to Steve.

“You call me a monster, but you’re the one who killed his friend.” Steve muses, now straightening up atop a shocked Bucky and slowly sinking his fingers into the hair again.

“I didn’t.” Bucky insists, the veins along his temples popping.

“Oh, yes, you did.” Steve drawls, holding a lock of Bucky’s hair to cut it. “You rammed that knife right into her heart and you didn’t even bat an eye.”

The clipping of metal resonates like a vivid reminder of that day… the day he stabbed Natasha to death.

Bucky shakes his head and wails again. Oh God, he didn’t mean to.

“Careful there,” Steve sing-songs, now holding another lock of Bucky’s hair, “I might gouge a hole in your head or something”

Bucky’s entire body stiffens, and he can almost taste the threat in the nonchalantly spoken words.

“Your friend looked like he was having the fun of his life,” he resumes the story, “heck, I gotta say, I even had second thoughts whether or not he was the same person. He looked really happy with his life.”

Bucky quiets down, doesn’t sniffle and doesn’t hiccup, “Good.”

The snipping of scissors pauses before it resumes again, ending the deafening silence. “You know what you are, Buck?”

“Not a psychopath, I can tell you this much.” Bucky scoffs.

“And off with the heady sarcasm,” Steve chirps, “Seriously, isn’t it getting a little old?”

Just to spite him, Bucky chuckles, “Nope,” he drags the ‘p’. “I mean,” he clears his throat with a wet cough. Gosh, he shouldn’t have screamed his lungs out like that, it’s not like that’s the first time Steve’s fucked him that hard. “Do you ever get tired of being the psycho mania that gets off on maiming, skinning and raping?”

“So we’re the same.” Steve deadpans.

“You don’t get enough of torturing me and I don’t get enough of putting you on blast every time you think you’ve had your way with me, there’s a difference.” Bucky huffs, crossly. His nostrils flaring

“You hear that, Tony?” Steve muses, like he’s just gotten his hand on something Bucky babbled away unconsciously during his rant. “He thinks I’m not having my way with him.”

A high squeak leaves Bucky when he tries to mock-laugh with his hoarse voice, “I said it before, you bastard” he starts, “I’ll say it again so that this time it sinks in for good. I’ve long since had you figured out; you’re a child, Steve. I don’t know what fucked-up environment you were raised in when you were a kid but brute force isn’t gonna cut it for you anymore, it never had, with me that is. Sorry, badass. And if you’re thinking of bringing up your trump card of hurting my friend wherever the hell he is, I say go ahead and screw yourself. You think after everything, Clint won’t be prepared for getting jumped at again? Are you also an idiot besides being a nut job?” he seethes, the tirade of his ranting making Steve completely still and silent, “I’ve managed to break out of every room you put me in, what makes you think I’d stop, because you say you love me? Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I fall for a nutcase like you? You abuse me physically for leisure, you rape me on a regular basis and plug your cum inside after every single time. And God, this is the worst of it, you always talk like you already have me wrapped around your little finger!” He pants, breathlessly.

“Seems like your story is short of a little detail, though” Steve mutters.

Bucky narrows his eyes on the floor, searchingly, and his chest heaves.

Steve lifts the scissor and stabs it into the mattress next to his knee. He combs the short hair and scoffs, hot breath fanning down on Bucky’s cheek. “I’ve never asked you to love me back.” He says, icily. “You know why?”

Bucky gulps, chest lifting off the mattress as he anticipates the answer.

“Because you already do” he scoffs, “and for the record, you can’t get out.”

“You say that now,” Bucky barks a derisive laugh, ignoring the bit where Steve said Bucky loves him back, because he doesn’t, he never will. “But guess what, even if Tony here is loyal to you to a fault, I’ll still find a way out, and not you, not any of your sick minions with a penchant to set up innocent people and yell out Nebula out of the freaking blue can stop me!”

At that, Steve’s body tilts sideways and he falls over with his eyes closed, going completely limp.

“Steve!” Tony rushes towards them, wide strides getting him sooner to the mattress.

Bucky, awestruck and wide-eyed and also still in a lot of pain, bugs his eyes out at an unconscious Steve. The unmoving body and the lax features, it’s almost as if he’s died in his sleep. But Bucky knows the devil isn’t dead –he isn’t sure if he is even mortal, for that matter. However, something must have gone wrong, and with all the experiments the maniac does on people, maybe it’s finally backfiring and this is some special brand of hell concocted for him and Bucky can’t bring himself to care at this point. He waits until Tony is cradling the psycho on his lap and then he latches at the scissors Steve planted into the mattress. He yanks them out and, raiment-less, makes for the door, not looking back, not even once.

He stumbles out of the door leading to the stairs of hell and savors a moment with the rackety of life bustling in the refulgent hallway. Although he’s out of eyeshot, he can’t help but peek at the civilians traipsing in and out, minding their own business. An image of Steve blacking out flashes inside Bucky’s head. He stills completely, the memory rendering him motionless. He actually marvels at the fact that he’s getting second thoughts here and, fuck, almost worrying about that psycho maniac who tortured him in every possible way your mind can think of. He raped him every day, he double-raped him on bad days. He starved him, killed all his friends. Why is Bucky supposed to worry about a person like him, now, of all times?

A reedy voice, the female receptionist’s, blares through the speakers about ‘Doctor Rogers is required in room 34’, and Bucky panics. He scans the hallways with a pair of trembling eyes. He knows he can’t head out so he tiptoes to a random door, twists the knob and rejoices at the temporary shelter because, apparently, the patient in this room has been given some of the good stuff –if the dopey eyes and the drool are any indications to go by. Bucky takes the liberty to poke around this guy’s things. He cry-laughs when he gets a hold of a white Henley and light blue jeans. He doesn’t bother with shoes. He puts the Henley on first, feeling a shock of pain shoot through him once the fabric touches his back wounds, then he quickly dons the pants, not wanting to waste any more time. As he fumbles with the zipper, he can feel small beads of sweat running down his forehead, mingled with metallic-smelling liquid.

There’s a square clock on the dresser that shows five thirty in the evening.

Bucky borrows the guy’s phone, he also borrows his money and if there were keys he’d borrow them too, but he doesn’t linger. Steve’s men, he must have bought new mercenary since Edwin died and the other machete and bow men haven’t shown their mugs in a while. They’d be out there looking for him so Bucky scurries stealthily towards the gate of his freedom.

He stands at the top of the stairs, just taking in everything for a moment. He can see signs of a town with scattered street lights just a few miles away from the clinic. There’s a vast and almost vacant parking lot just ahead the entrance, but other than that, there are just acres and acres of fog-covered woods looking ghostly under the cloudy night sky –the first he’s seen of the outside world in months. But then he hears it: the gruff voice that belongs to the machete man reminding Bucky of gory images and blood-curdling screams. He whips his head to the source of it and finds the man with another, making their way to the gate from inside the clinic. Bucky’s feet shuffle and soon he is dashing to a gray Camry. He attempts to unlock its door but it doesn’t open, so he glances fervently at the gate and sees the two men scanning the place from their perch. Bucky ducks and crawls to a red Civic, when he touches it, the car alarm goes off, revealing his location in the vicinity.

He stills, completely.

For a moment, he can almost feel his heart beating in his throat: so loud, he hears the pulse.

He props up very slowly and finds the two men dashing his way. It’d take at least a minute to break the window of the car, unlock the door, and then if there’s no key in the glove compartment or on the dashboard, he’s going to have to hot-wire the damn car and that could be another minute. Without pondering the consequences, he turns around and sprints forward –towards the woods.

 

Dead, dewed twigs stab his uncovered soles and dry but sharp branches graze his wounded sides, but Bucky doesn’t stop, not even for a breather.

He remembers writing this scholarly article back in junior year. He picked the topic about TF-CBT under the expressed notion that reliving traumatic experiences heals PTSD. It’s ironic, because it’s exactly what he’s doing now –reliving his deepest fears, his worst nightmares.

He hears the scuttle of footsteps, crunching the fallen leaves and coming after him.

He is hurt. The cuts on his face have reopened and are now dripping blood –he swipes at them with his sleeve. He is cold.

The fresh odor of pine trees and mountain plants gets carried in the wind, spread out in the chilly space and it brings silver light with it. When Bucky looks up, he finds that the clouds have cleared out a little and there it is, the half moon with its radiant halo, illuminating his path and shedding light on the cabin just a few yards away. Bucky looks around, assured that nobody is close by skulking him. He trudges to the cabin and locks himself in its bathroom.

He feels around for a light switch, he doesn’t find it; it’s a cabin, he should’ve guessed as much. His hand knocks against a flashlight. He flicks it on to study his surroundings. The room barely has enough space for a person his height to recline askew. There’s a mirror cracked in the middle hanging on the panel. Barrels, a lot of barrels, a dirty sink, a head shower spray and some shabby towels on a rack. Someone’s gone through some trouble installing everything, and the pumps, someone lived here. It’s too bad they left in a hurry, leaving everything behind. He guesses their loss is his gain.

He looks in the mirror; a ravaged face of a torture victim is looking back at him.

“What have you gotten yourself into, you idiot.” He tells his reflection and he wipes a smudge to amend it but more blood smears stain the surface and he is left with is a blurred image of himself -of his unknown future. He feels the injuries Steve left on his back bleeding again. He fetches a towel, turns the spigot on but there’s no running water. He spins just a little so that most of his back is facing the mirror but enough so that he can crane his neck to see what reflects on it as well. He furls the Henley from the collar and freezes at the sight: there are letters carved into his back. He doesn’t remove his shirt because he’s pretty sure the fabric has glued itself to the blood, but he pries it apart from his skin bit by bit just to read what the fucker carved on his skin.

“Ste-ve” he reads, “Ro-gers” his breath suddenly hitches as he exclaims “he engraved his name! He fucking etched it into my skin!”

Suddenly something creaks outside these confining walls, something ominous. Bucky looks up, pupils blown and chary, he quickly places the towel on his wounds to keep them from bleeding more as he stands still, waiting.

Footsteps march very slowly inside the cabin, ignoring how the plank moans under the strain.

“Bucky~” a velvety voice intones, playfully.

Bucky’s body goes rigid with fear, his pupils dilate with it, and they tremble as he holds his breath, praying to whoever brought him here to spare him. Last time he saw Steve the maniac was unconscious, so what in the blue hell is he doing here trailing him down.

“I know you’re in here.” Steve sing-songs, “this is actually a lot of fun.”

Bucky’s jaw hinges down as resignation finally settles in.

He’s been going around it for a while when the glaring truth had been there, in plain sight: he can never get away. Not now, not ever. He is Steve’s hobby, he is that man’s plaything and men like Steve don’t give up on their playthings. Somehow, Bucky knew that but he preferred the illusory safety he felt not mulling this over.

Valiantly going against Steve’s orders, diving head-on into the man’s darkness and pulling devil-may-cry stunts… he knew it was a world of make-believe so he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of the situation. There’s no way Steve would let go of him now, not after he’s gone to the extreme to make Bucky his bitch, even carving his own name on his captive.

 

A Knock…

Bucky’s eyes well up with tears that soon stream down his cheeks, and soon, he is sobbing silently.

Two more knocks now.

Bucky clears his throat and looks around the bathroom again. He probably can’t escape, but he’s going to make sure he’ll go down fighting if it comes down to that.

Steve pounds on the door now, “Open the fucking door, Bucky.”

Bucky shakes his head and shuffles in a slight rearward movement, grabs the flashlight and aims it at the door.

The door rattles when Steve, most likely, punches it.

Bucky doesn’t want to be entombed inside those four walls again and he doesn’t want to spend what’s left of his life pleasing a maniac until he fades away… the idea alone is repellent to him.

“This actually amps up the passion in our relationship, don’t you think?” Steve scoffs, pounding the door and twisting the knob, willing it to come off, which, Bucky fears, could happen soon. “Come on, Bucky, enough games, open up.”

“No.” Bucky’s brittle voice hollers.

“You want me to kick this door down, ‘cause I will!” Steve threatens.

“I want you to leave me alone!” Bucky bellows.

“Now you’re just acting like a teenage girl who cries ‘I hate you, Dad’ and locks herself in her room.” Steve jokes, “Come on, Bucky.” He coaxes, “open up, I’m kinda itching to see you.”

“No, you want to beat me to death.”

“Not to death, per se.” Steve assures, “it can’t be helped, Bucky. What, you go harum-scarum and try to buy your ticket outta this place and expect me to let it slide?”

“You carved your name on my back!”

Steve falls silent for a moment, “yeah,” he sighs wistfully, “did you like it?”

Without thinking it through –and why should he? Suicides aren’t supposed to be planned– Bucky strangles himself with his bare hands hoping his tongue would block his trachea when he falls unconscious. The flashlight falls from his hand and lands harshly on the old plank, lolls to the side when Bucky crumbles to his knees and lands shoulder-first.

 

He wakes up to a face beaded with perspiration and a pair of terrified eyes peering down at him –the revenant. Steve is looking scared? Now this is a moment to behold. Bucky fights past the hazy vision to focus on what Steve is shouting.

“You hear me,” he snarls, “Your life is mine, you bastard. It’s the final rule. You have no right to end your life without my permission. If you do something like this again, I’ll make sure to bring you back and hurt you to the point you’re gonna want to die again, but you won’t, ‘cause I won’t let you.” He is barking by the last sentence.

This is what Bucky’s been resuscitated for, to hear more threats? In that case, he’ll just go back to being unconscious. At least, that way, he’ll be doing something to shelve the torture that is sure to follow.

 

Tap, tap, tap...

Bucky groans awake.

Slosh.

He heaves a sigh as he puffs out his chest and straightens his back, but when he tries to stretch, he finds that his wrists are tied behind his back and that he is perched on a wooden chair.

“I never tire of watching that.” Steve’s voice replaces the silence for a scary moment.

Bucky’s eyes dart to the man whose elbow is resting on the armrest of the settee just inches apart from the chair that has, obviously, replaced the mattress.

“That’s probably 'cause you’re a nut-job.” Bucky hisses, jerking his hands to untie the cord.

Steve’s shoulders rock when he gives a small, taunting laugh. “I’m not the one who tried to kill himself.”

“Surprised you haven’t.” Bucky glares defiantly, corner of his lips furling up into a smirk.

Steve wets his lips and folds his arms over his chest, “so what’s your theory?”

Bucky shrugs, “there’s no theory, you’re a complete maniac and that’s that, maybe a little schizophrenic too.”

“I don’t talk to myself or hear voices in my head.” Steve counters, “So what’s your other therapeutic opinion?”

“You should probably check your epinephrine levels.” Bucky scoffs, humorlessly; “and while you’re at it, don’t forget to pass by a psych ward. I’m sure they won’t mind lending you a straitjacket.”

Steve hums and nods, “I see.” He concludes, “epinephrine, huh?”

Bucky scrunches up his face, “Don’t tell me I’m about to hear a lecture about endogenous chemicals by the ‘oh so amazing Doctor Rogers, the psycho neurologist.”

“Even better,” Steve chirps, “we’re going to witness a demonstration.”

Bucky peers up at the man.

Steve, still smiling, takes out a small syringe from the pocket of his pants.

Bucky’s heart somersaults.

“I understand there hasn’t been much change of airs,” Steve sidesteps the chair with the syringe in a hand. “After spending months holed up in this room, I bet you’re starting to feel stuck in a rut. I would.” He suddenly comes to a standstill, “but I told you before, many times already, this is your home now,” he says through gritted teeth, “stop plotting jailbreaks.”

“You’re not exactly giving me much option here, Steve.” Bucky murmurs, eyes sliding to the corner, attentive for Steve if he does stab that needle in his face, “calling it jailbreak isn’t going to make me stop.”

Steve walks up to the backrest of the chair, and Bucky can’t see the man even if he cranes his neck. Heavy hands rest on Bucky’s shoulders, one holding the syringe. “Do you remember when I said I’d get my men on your friend if you attempted anything like trying to escape?”

Bucky’s mouth runs dry.

“I tried to avoid resorting to that, I really did, but you’re so caught up with trying to get away from this place, from me, and I think I’m fucking done trying to save your ass. It’d be very remiss of me to ignore it this time, you can’t dodge this one, Bucky, and your friend will bear the consequences of your selfish actions.” His hands, they squeeze Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky shakes his head, “kill me,” he howls, voice resonating into the room and coming back to him, and he adds, calmer now, “you know I’d never be yours, even if you use my friend.”

Steve returns to sit on the armrest of the settee, “Oh I’ll use him, and your father, I’ll kill all of them,” he says on a dazzling smile, “until there’s just you left.”

There’s a numbness that is slowly wiggling its way to Bucky’s limbs, spreading out from his middle. A certain memory of Steve never failing to keep his promises flashes before his wide, terrified eyes.

“P-please…” he mutters in almost a whisper.

Steve cocks his head and gives a condescending smile.

“Please.” Bucky pleads again, showing his mouth open for a moment before gritting his teeth with apparent fear; tears that he didn’t know his eyes held roll down his pale cheeks.

To his astonishment, the smile Steve gives him is more maniacal than he’s ever seen the man make before. He leans in a little closer, eyes glinting with something malicious, “why are you scared,” he inquires, voice deep and smoky, “when I’m already here.”

Bucky feels his breath leaving him, and his lungs are soon chasing after ever gulp of air, giving way to a full-fledged case of hyperventilation to hit him like a tide of raging waves.

Steve hushes him gently, bringing a hand to Bucky’s cheek and the other he uses to inject his arm with the aforementioned syringe. Bucky’s sobbing and panting noises turn into low groans as warmness, odd and intense, spreads inside of him, riffling and warring within without mercy. He throws his head to the back, eyes roll under his lids and images of what happened in the woods reappear as his senses dull. If only he grew tame and deify Steve, consented to his commands, none of this would have happened. And soon, there's a strangled and garbled sound down his throat before he parts his lips and lets loose a feral scream.

Steve unties Bucky’s wrists and stands before him, just waiting, watching with rapt how Bucky, as soon as he is freed from the shackles, pounces Steve’s lips. The latter indulges him, kissing him back and moaning into the reckless kiss, teeth and noses knocking together. Bucky pushes the other down on the settee and immediately straddles his lap, crotch grinding against Steve’s, who lets go of a low rumble in response.

 

 

After Steve left the room, leaving Bucky half naked and slumped on the settee, Tony walks in, but unlike any other times, he wakes Bucky up with a wary look in his eyes.

“Bucky,” Tony shakes him by the forearms, “wake up, come on, wake up!”

Bucky, groggy and sexed out, lets his head loll to the side, doesn’t open his eyes until Tony shakes him hard again. “What now?” he grumbles, jadedly.

“We need to leave here!” he hollers, lifting Bucky up and crouching to lift his pants up next.

“No,” Bucky mumbles, “I don’t want a repeat of last time. I don’t trust you.”

Tony straightens up and fixes Bucky with a strange look, “he trusts me now.” He says, “Steve trusts me.”

Bucky creases his eyebrows in response.

“Look, he didn’t use to be like this. It all happened after Mrs. Potts showed up at the doors of this clinic.” He tells him, fumbling over his pockets for something. He takes out a handkerchief and tosses it to Bucky, “after he collapsed the other night, I decided I’ve had enough. Something isn’t right.”

“You think?” Bucky bellows, taking the handkerchief and bowing a little to see between his legs, feeling his body heavy from the waist down. After Tony looks away, Bucky wipes his inner thighs and mumbles something about Steve coming a lot inside of him.

Tony finally faces Bucky and flares his nose, “I’ll get you out. I can deal with Brock and Drax, and I hope Steve doesn’t suspect anything until I’ve dealt with Mrs. Potts, too.”

“Deal with Mrs. Potts, how?” he asks, following suit after Tony headed to the door.

“Do you remember when you and your friend escaped?” he inquires, and doesn’t wait for an answer, “do you remember how he was?”

Bucky can’t exactly forget that even if he wants to.

“When he’s upstairs, he doesn’t remember anything about spending half of his time with you, but when he’s here, he remembers everything about his life up there.” He cranes his neck outside the door, scans the hall and forges forward when no one shows up, assured that Bucky is walking closely behind, “I inspected Mrs. Potts had something to do with it, the fact that Steve’s mood changes every time she’s around. I realized something, when you ranted on the other day, something you said, it’s the same thing Mrs. Potts says to him sometimes.” He stops and looks up, “there are no cameras around because she doesn’t want Steve to find out about this place when he’s lucid” he suddenly turns around, facing Bucky again, “you know what hypnosis is?”

Bucky’s eyes widen.

“I looked up Mrs. Potts’s files, she’s a professional hypnotherapist. She’s had Steve hypnotized ever since she stepped foot into this place, and he doesn’t know. He won’t listen to someone like me either.”

“Hypnotized?” Bucky almost laughs, “But how is that even possible. He isn’t usually dripping balls when he’s raping me silly, how can someone be so evil and not remember?”

“Believe what you want,” Tony tells him after a pause, “I’m taking you out of here, but once you leave, don’t look back. Go to your family, tell them about Steve’s men and leave everything behind.” He advises, “Don’t stop until you’ve left by a good hundred miles.”

And that is a tempting idea. “What about Steve?”

Tony lowers his head, “knowing him, the truth will most likely kill him.” He says, now his eyes do a stupid glint that deceives Bucky with something like hope and care which he no longer trusts are there. “He is a brilliant doctor, he saves lives.” He starts, “I’ve known him since I was a kid, looked after him ever since, and he’s never been this aggressive. Something must have happened that changed him, and I know the answers I’m seeking Mrs. Potts has them.” He determines, “I’ll deal with her first, cut off the head of the snake, right? Hopefully, with her gone, his ‘dark’ side will be gone as well.”

Bucky has the good grace to look a little cowed by the revelation at least and, for a fragment of a second, he is suddenly beset by doubts.

“I know it’s not gonna cut it, but I’m sorry for everything.” Tony’s features contort apologetically.

“You’re right,” Bucky grits out, “it’s not gonna cut it.”

“I wish you’d met him under better circumstances –the real Steve.” He sighs until his chest lifts up and falls. “You haven’t missed the train. Go back to your family, to your life. You still have time to start over, many didn’t.” Saying so, Tony turns around and walks away.

 

That’s it?

‘Go back to you life’, what kind of half-assed speech is that? And Tony couldn’t look a little more emphatic for him? And sorry, for what, for allowing Steve a better playground by keeping his mouth shut about every possible kind of torture Bucky had to undergo, or about Steve’s insanity and his regal forebears’ whom must have been the pioneers of those woods. Gosh, just how many people have they killed so far! –tortured and... . Bucky’s entire body heats up: damn it, he can even feel little remnants of cum slowly sliding down his inner thighs. So all those times Steve did whatever he wanted with Bucky, is because he was hypnotized to do it. Is this the joke of the century or what. You can’t just go about, hunting down humans for a hobby, peel off their skin for sheer pleasure and then blame it on hypnosis. –Bucky’s hands ball up into fists by his hips– you can’t just spend that much time, confined with someone for hours, brag about owing them, loving them… and not remember.

There it is the door to Bucky’s freedom, the thing he’s always been jonesing for.

Yet why does it look so far away.

 

His feet shuffle, undecided about the direction they want to carry him to, they stomp towards the doors but soon come to a sudden halt and draggle towards the direction Tony disappeared to instead.

He can’t leave just yet.

Just like Tony is looking for answers, Bucky also wants them, and he wants them now. –his body collides with someone else’s and Bucky recoils to the back, wincing as the movement jars his injuries. They’re still so ripe he can smell them.

“Oh, it’s you.”

The calm, velvety voice –Bucky snaps his eyes up to the man before him, his own widening with shock and horror. Maybe this time Steve will give the order, maybe he will finally decide he’s had enough of Bucky and have him killed in the worst possible way. Maybe his psychopathic love was merely an infatuation and those don’t last.

“I gotta be honest with you,” he says, smiling thinly. “I think I deserve to know what’s going on with you.” He starts, “you can’t just show up a second time in my clinic looking like you’ve survived a train crash and expect me not to ask questions.”

Bucky’s mind goes blank.

Tony wasn’t lying… the void-faced bastard wasn’t lying.

Steve, dressed in a lab coat and holding a couple of yellow files, frowns. “Ah-huh,” he says, swinging his index ‘no’ and closing the distance between them, “that’s the face you made last time before you squawked your lungs out.”

“Steve.” Bucky’s hand goes up to clutch Steve’s.

The latter tilts his head a little and smiles, “it’s Doctor but sure, at least we’re getting to something if you’re starting to talk.”

Bucky shakes his head sideways, “listen to me.” He squeezes Steve’s hand, desperately, yet his voice holds no argument. “Mrs. Potts, the hypnotist, she’s been controlling you, Steve. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it for you because you’ve been a complete jackass to me,” he holds Steve’s look, and doesn’t even blink when he discloses the truth, “she hypnotizes you to torture and kill people. There’s a dungeon underground where you keep them, it’s where you’ve been keeping me this whole time.”

Steve’s smile falls and he takes an unconscious, faltering step to the back, trying very faintly to retract his hand from Bucky’s. “I think you should leave.” He concludes, wets his dry throat and sighs attentively. “It’s fine. I won’t charge you or anything, just, please, leave.”

Bucky curses under his breath, letting go of Steve’s hand to take off his shirt. He turns around, baring his back to the man, “you engraved your name on me a few nights ago, Steve,” and it still pulsates like a bad throb. “I can even show you the dungeon where you keep your pets, and how do you explain the scar on your face? Look, there’s a ton of evidence if you want to debate this but we don’t have time.” When he turns around, Steve is pale and ashen faced. “Tony went to face Mrs. Potts about all this, but he’s gonna need our help.”

“Tony?” he echoes, disbelievingly, “My caretaker Tony Stark?”

Bucky nods, “he’s had enough of cleaning up after you,” he explains, “tonight he said he was going to deal with your psycho therapist to put the lid on your dark side.”

The files in Steve’s hand fall to the tiled floor, and he slowly totters rearward, landing on the wall behind.

Bucky walks up to him, “we don’t exactly have time for this, Steve.” He bellows, “I need to ask you something, alright?”

Steve’s pupils are trembling so fast Bucky isn’t sure the man is taking in anything right now, but he asks anyways.

“Do you know why she did this to you?”

Steve surprises him when he shakes his head, “God,” he groans, “all those dreams that I’ve been having lately, that’s real?” he looks into Bucky’s eyes, awe-stricken and scared, like a little kid. “And your body,” he doubles over, retching, but nothing comes out, “I did that?”

Whatever glint was left in Bucky’s eyes, goes out. “Yes, you did this to me” he deadpans, “you killed my friends and had your minions torture them, just like you tortured me.”

Steve’s heaving stops and his entire body goes still.

“My ass is still crammed with your cum, Steve.” He brings a hand to his abdomen, strokes it in sensual motions. “We fucked so hard in my cell just half an hour ago.”

Steve’s lump pops along his throat when he looks up, beholding Bucky’s body in such an unsettling silence. And so out of the blue, he shoots past Bucky, making his way to the stairs. Bucky, for the first time, feels so alive. He’s finally reciprocated the favor and Steve will never be the same –tortured by his own dreams, that’s inconsequential, but these reminders, Steve will relive the hell he’s hauled Bucky down to.

Steve leads them to a door with a nameplate that reads Pepper Potts; he rams it open and walks in, Bucky in tow. The blonde looks up from her desk, wide eyes bewildered. She entwines her fingers over the open files she has on her desk and smirks.

“Decided to bring your playground upstairs?” Her smirk deepens, “I have to say, that’s a little stretching it, even for you.”

“You whore.” Steve snarls, and watches with fury how she drops her smirk and stumbles to her feet. He scurries to her side but she backs away, terror seizing her. “You had me hypnotized for your own amusement!”

She doesn’t deny anything and Bucky can see how Steve wants to tear himself out of his body.

“Why!” Steve exclaims with a roar, his voice almost cracking.

She shrugs, “because I can?” she says, “just for funs you and I played a little game a while back, and I had you profiled. You were still shaken by the death of your parents and I offered you a way out, you didn’t refuse.” she explains, “in one of the psychology tests I gave you, you showed high chances of personality disorder, and I used it for my academic research.”

Bucky, even liking the look of horror on Steve’s face, he can’t stop that side of him that feels anger on Steve’s behalf. To have his mind screwed around with like a guinea pig just for a research paper, he’s one unlucky son of a bitch.

“You permitted the hypnosis session to help you forget your parents’ death,” she elaborates, “and I took the liberty to uncage that side of you that has been dying to be released for a long, long time.”

Steve fists his hand and punches the desk, not caring if it cracked his knuckles, “are you kidding me?” he bawls, “I killed people, I tortured them…” he stares wide-eyed at a spot on the desk, as though finally realizing something that, by the looks if it, horrifies him. “I raped him.”

Bucky flinches under the pair of eyes now staring at him.

The door flings open again as Tony walks in, covered in cuts and blood, he takes in the scene for a moment before slumping down face-first. Bucky retreats away from the body, his eyes glancing at Steve and then back at the door as two men, the machete guy and the bowman, walk in, brandishing their weapons about.

“Nebula.” Mrs. Potts mutters on a smirk.

And then all the pieces fall together and Bucky finally sees the image that’s been kept under veil all this time. The key word, the thing that connects Steve to his sanity, a single word that –Bucky grits his teeth– has a lot of people killed horrendously. When he looks Steve’s direction, he knows what he’s going to find, but he is not scared to see it.

“Love~” Steve drawls, playfully.

Bucky holds his ground, he wants to scoot out of that open door, he wants to so bad, but he won’t.

Steve saunters towards Bucky’s direction, “what in the blue hell are you doing here?”

“I’d ask you the same thing,” Bucky smirks, “but then again, you probably won’t remember.”

Steve tilts his head like a confused dog, “I asked you a question, Buck.”

Bucky, for the part of being wise, scuffs his feet to the back.

“He’s been defying your orders and going about causing your men trouble,” Mrs. Potts provides in his stead, “Can you please see to his rebellion.”

Bucky glares at her and switches to look at Steve, who is already palming out his hand to send a slap across Bucky’s cheek, but he didn’t survive months of unrelenting agony and made it out of that cell to eventually fall victim to Mrs. Potts’s ploys, that’s not how he’ll go down. “Steve,” he says in a small voice, gentle, caring.

Steve’s open hand stops mid air.

“I defied you by leaving my room, I admit to it.” He says, “But if I really wanted to leave, I wouldn’t still be here. Tony came to me for help, you understand? Steve, I’m not your enemy, she is. She’s done things to your head, and she’s had you fooled all this time.”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Potts blares her nose, “Steve is my coworker,” she declares, “I’d never do something so out of the line like that.”

Steve quirks a smile, “she’s more convincing.”

Bucky swallows hard, hoping to ease the sharp stab of envy piercing his stomach. And in a moment of prolonged silence, he reevaluates his choice of words, because it could be his last.

“I don’t want to go back downstairs,” he admits, eyes slowly beholding Steve’s after the latter mutters a ‘you’ve made that plenty clear’, “but I don’t want to leave you either.”

“I’m listening.” Steve intones and ushers to Mrs. Potts to keep quiet when she interjected to say something.

“What I want is to walk under the sun with you side by side,” he says, “it’s tearing me apart to say this but I realized that, no matter how hard I try to leave here, I can’t bring myself to whenever I remember my time with you.”

Steve narrows his eyes slightly at his captive.

“Steve, let’s leave here. I want us to be together away from all these people.” He pleads, now dashing forward to take Steve’s lips in his, “I love you.” He whispers through swollen lips, his eyes now look into Steve’s, and for a terrifying moment, he almost believes his own act because the look in Steve’s eyes has too much love, harbored for him and only him. “I want to be with you forever.”

In a remarkable second, Steve spins around and steals the machete from its owner’s scabbard, stabbing his chest with it. The bowman jumps back, outside the room, draws his bow and arrow and shoots it Steve’s way, hitting his knee. Steve cries out and falls down to his other knee, cradling the one injured. The bowman brings another arrow, this one he sets its head on fire before he shoots it.

“Steve!” Bucky calls out “watch out!”

Steve dodges the flaming arrow coming his way, allowing it to go past him and land inside on Mrs. Potts’s desk and the papers immediately go aflame. Mrs. Potts seizes the moment of everyone’s distraction to flee the scene, uncaring about perfecting the plan anymore. When Bucky tries to go after her, his ankle is caught by Tony. He demurs after whipping his head at his direction, wanting to ignore him but Tony is the one who helped him out of the room so he owes the man this much, and he doesn’t want to be owed, especially not by someone like Tony.

“The patients,” the man in pain coughs out, “Take them out.”

Bucky takes in the fight scene and then he looks at Tony again.

“Please,” he begs, blood now seeping through his lips, “this room doesn’t have a fire alarm. The fire’s not going to stop and the patients might get hurt, please.”

“What about you?”

“I’m done for.” Tony sighs, slowly closing his eyes, “Gonna nap here.”

For a mere psycho’s minion, Bucky thinks Tony went down like a bad-ass. He lingers enough for a final momentary look before he runs down the hallway, coming to a small red box hooked to the wall. He breaks its glass with his elbow –he’s already covered in cuts, what’s one more. He pulls down the fire alarm and dashes to the first door to his right, wrenches it open and moves on to the next, until he’s opened all the doors and can see now patients rushing out of their cacophony of bed sheets and morpheme. Bucky guides them out like a scout boy, he helps the ones who can’t walk to their wheelchair and asks the ones who can to take them along.

When the fire reaches the other rooms, Bucky wonders why the smoke detectors aren’t spraying any water but Mrs. Potts’s disappearance kind of gives him the answer he wanted. Speaking of the Spawn of Satan, he catches sight of Mrs. Potts rushing to the direction of the surgery room. Bucky doesn’t waste any time and springs after her, he spots a plant stand, breaks it on his knee in a half and uses them to lock the handles of the door after finding her inside skimming through papers for something. Mrs. Potts soon clouts a hand to the opaque round window of the door, the grids on the glass masking most of her face.

“How’s that feel, you slut?” He beams, maniacally. No obscenities can soothe his anger but he feels the bells of winning ring like a blessing. “Not so good, is it? And you know what, I’m not even done yet.” He chirps, using the sharp end of the other piece of the stand to cut his arm and uses the blood, which soon oozes out, to paint letters on the vast white door. “No one’s going to approach this door now, have fun getting grilled.”

When he faces away, he finds that the smoke is a sea of mist by now and he can feel the lack of oxygen granting him short vision and dizziness. He covers his mouth with a hand and coughs into it, forges between the smoke clouds wafting into the space, looking for Steve.

The flames have eaten most of Mrs. Potts’s desk when Bucky gets to it, he finds Steve crouching over the bowman’s body just beside it, his form hazy with all the smoke.

“Steve!” Bucky calls out, but as soon as he opens his mouth, the smoke rushes into his lungs and he coughs into the nook of his elbow again.

Steve lifts off the body and reels around, face splattered with blood. He cuts his eyes up at Bucky –dead eyes that make him feel like he could drown with no chance to float back up to the surface. “He’s gone.”

Bucky nibbles at his bottom lip, doing his hardest to keep from turning around and running with his tail between his legs. “I know.” He tells him, winces when the smoke layers thicken. “Let’s just leave.”

Said man walks up to him, shoulders drooped and jaw slack. “I need to find her.”

“She’s not a problem anymore, Steve. I locked her up in the surgery room.” Bucky beseeches now, “Let’s get outta here too, please.”

Steve shakes his head in a way that says it’s too late and Bucky fucking hates it. He brings a hand to Bucky’s nape, pulls him closer to knock their foreheads together and closes his eyes, a thumb stroking his nape. “I don’t belong out there, Bucky” He says, eyelids slowly parting open, “You have to go.”

Bucky shakes his head reluctantly, not wanting to break off the physical contact because, for the first time in so many months, Steve is holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the entire world.

Steve’s hand gives another squeeze, as though memorizing the feeling of Bucky’s skin under his fingertips because it’d be his last. He lets go just as sudden and pushes Bucky away, “Go!” he hollers, a hand pointing at the direction of the stairs.

Bucky’s feet move on their own accord, but he can’t find the strength in him to look away from Steve, as if he did, Steve’s body would evaporate into million smoke particles, to never regenerate again. The smog condenses and what’s beyond blurs, and Steve’s shape slowly fades away, just like Bucky feared, taking all the nightmares with him.

 

Bucky runs and runs, and runs like hell hounds are after him, leaving nothing but the flames, the pain and Steve behind. And he doesn’t stop until a police SUV blares its honk at him, headlights flashing in his eyes like the fluorescent tubes back in the roof of his cell. Blue and red lights spin in the open and Bucky looks around as the vehicle pulls over the lane. He is on the same road their van died at, but this time he is all by himself.

“Sir?” a male officer heads his way, flashlight in a hand and the other on the hostler of his gun.

Bucky faces him with a glassy look in his eyes.

The middle-aged man becomes more alert, “we’ve received a call about a house fire,” he informs, and when he tries to add something, Bucky cuts him off.

“Clinic,” he corrects, pupils traveling to the unending length of the sky, “not house –that place is not a house” he mutters. He becomes more focused and looks at the officer, “did you get everyone out in time?”

The officer nods, “the firefighters are doing their best, sir.” he comes closer, cautiously, “I’m Deputy Phil Coulson, can I ask you a few questions?” he asks, and when Bucky nods absentmindedly, the deputy ushers him to the car, “please get inside the car first, let’s get you out of here?”

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I was so surprised and overwhelmed by the reactions for chapter 9. I thank you so much for the love ~  
> The proofreading stops at this chapter, so beware that the errors might ruin your reading. I'm sorry. I'm still trying to get somebody on it but she's having exams.  
> I hope you enjoy :">

 

 

“Sushi, man, that stuff is expensive, you sure you don’t want to come?” Clint petitions, brown puppy eyes of doom doing that little glint which drives away the rejections Bucky always has ready up his sleeves, but maybe not today. 

Bucky’s mouth tugs into a small smile. “I’m not an expert by a long shot, but I’m pretty sure raw fish isn’t my idea of a healthy dinner meal,” he says, blithely. He folds another one of his plain shirts and stacks it in the drawer of his wardrobe. “It’s okay, man, you and Laura deserve some downtime to unwind. Besides, Dad’s shift ends soon and we kind of already made plans.”

“You’re still stuffing his guts with rabbit food?”  Clint gives his friend a shit-eating grin.

Bucky lifts an index in warning, “veg sandwiches,” he corrects, now slumping on his bed, and allowing it to bounce and bring him up and down with the brunt of his weight. “I’m worried about his cholesterol level, dude, am I the only one who acknowledges the sublime dangers of that?”

Clint raises placating hands, “Whatever you say, man.” He says on a smarmy chuckle, which soon falters, his hands slowly collapsing by his sides, “What about tomorrow?”

Bucky’s pupils blow wide at his friend, jaw clenching.

Clint scoots a little closer to the bed. He’s been standing by the door the entire time, watching Bucky bustle about in his room, and he’s been meaning to bring this up at some point but he isn’t usually very subtle when it comes to poking at old wounds, so he guessed the best way to approach this without having Bucky recoil from the talk altogether was by bringing it up in the middle of a talk. “Mr. and Mrs. Maximoff are coming tomorrow,” he informs, “mom heard it from a nurse.”

Bucky looks away from his friend, sky-blue eyes catching sight of a bird flying by his window, “I’m not going.”

Clint’s chin meets his chest. He lets loose a shaky breath before looking back up at Bucky, “It’s been four years, Buck, people already moved on from the rumors, found something new to gossip about.”

“Clint,” Bucky’s stare aims his friend’s, “some people just take more time to move on, I happen to be a walking example.” He confesses, “Going to a cemetery where no bodies are buried is not going to numb the pain of loss away,” –he interlaces his fingers together but soon untwines them– “they’re wasting their time.”

Clint ducks his head in surrender. “They find consolation.”

“I’m happy for them,” Bucky snorts, unable to rein in a derogatory chuckle. “Personally, I just can’t bring myself to find solace at the bottom of an empty casket buried six feet under.”

“Bucky” Clint says in stiff reproach.

“No, Clint,” the other shoots up from his bed, “no” he repeats it in an attempt to control the retort that wants to come out as a bellow. “Standing at empty graves is not how I want to honor their memory. I don’t see a point in going there when all I’d get is the reproaching looks and a big fat dredge-up of the crap I went through, and that’s not something I want to live through tomorrow. Or any other day. In fact, I’m pretty much against the whole idea of reliving all of that when I have the chance to avoid it.”

“Boys?”

Clint and Bucky whip their heads towards the door, finding George Barnes, in official military lieutenant uniform, rooted to the threshold with wrinkles marring his forehead.

“Something wrong?” he demands, keeping his tone as leveled as he can.

“Nothing,” Bucky assures, hurriedly, “Clint was just telling me about his date with Laura” –he switches to look at his friend now, on cue– “who must be waiting, by the way.”

Clint holds eye contact with him for a prolonged pause before nodding and turning away, he greets Mr. George, and vacates the house in a huff.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” His father narrows his blue eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

Bucky dismisses it with a flick of his wrist, “Just Clint being Clint, no big deal.”

“Well that sounded a lot like a big deal to me.” His father admits, now leaning on the frame of the door, “you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Bucky sighs jadedly and flops on his bed again, “he asked me to go to the cemetery tomorrow, told him I wasn’t ready.”

The penetrating gaze his father donned has tenderized by now. He lifts his shoulder off the door frame and walks inside, hands sliding into the side pockets of his pants. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Bucky flails a hand, motioning at the main direction of the door, “and it’s not that I don’t want to, I’m just not really up for it. I’ll go when I’m ready.”

His father nods in agreement, and then gives a pointed look, “Look, since it’s the anniversary it’s going to be all over the place, and you know how the townspeople like to gossip,” he starts, heedful of his words, “so if you want out, I can send you somewhere nice. I mean until the storm dies out.”

Bucky’s gaze meets the floor, “nah,” he scrubs his face with a hand before looking up. “I finally finished my practicum to get home and spend time with you and mom. I don’t want to hightail it outta town and give people something to chat about.”

His father nods, eyes peering at the crown of his son’s head since Bucky’s lowered his head again, “Sounds fair,” he comment. “And, Bucky?” The said man looks up. “If you ever want to talk…” He leaves it up to Bucky to fill in the blank with the hint.

Bucky chortles, bemused, “And save me the stagnating hours I get to spend listening to Dr. Strange reciting The Psychopathology of Everyday Life?” he grins, “Not a chance.”

George chuckles but restates what he said, “I mean it, son. I’m here, always.”

Bucky presses his lips on one another and nods, “I know, Dad, thank you.”

 

 

The first time Clint asked him to show up at the cemetery and Bucky refused, Clint took him in a bone-crashing hug and left it at that. The second time Clint asked and Bucky turned his offer down, Clint patted his shoulder. Third time he only smiled ruefully and nodded.

Now, anniversary or not, Clint usually stomps off in a huff.

Bucky cannot humor anyone.

 

It was rough, coming back from the hell he went through, and facing his friend who, just like the man from his nightmares had once said, has managed to move on. And then, and this one was the most grueling of all, giving his statement after that deputy brought him back to his station.

Bucky found out that while they had been fighting for their lives in the woods, chased down by mad men and hunted down like animals in hunting seasons, their families here left no stone unturned. Sent out rescue teams, resorted to media and contacted private investigators. Peter’s grandmother even went to oracles in hopes to spot her only grandchild. Of course, if it worked, Peter would still be alive. Bucky still remembers, in vivid details, the explosion that sent his body into debris.

Clint tried to get him to open up, more than an occasion, nudging him, patting his back and even operating his trademark puppy-eyes of doom on him, but Bucky couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to recount what happened after Clint left, knowing it’d break the man. After all, he did leave thinking Natasha had died.

Bucky took the year he came back off, spent it relocating from home to hospital, recuperating.

 

Most of his wounds and injuries, internal and external, have healed beautifully. His infections were treated soon and antibiotics worked wonders in fighting them. His battered face made the most astounding recovery, and he’s also regained weight after months of sporadic starvation. The only problem was his back.

It seemed that, yet again, Steve, even in his death, had outplayed Bucky.

The carvings on Bucky’s back took too long to be treated as it was, but Bucky found out that the reason his wounds weren’t healing was because the scalpel Steve used to cut his skin had been dipped in either raw onion or garlic juice, making it hard for the platelets to coagulate, thus resulting in permanent scars that could only be removed surgically, and that’s something Bucky didn’t opt for.

So until now, Steve’s full name stays engraved on his skin.

A murder, the entire Rogers family was murdered while the youngest son, Steve, had been studying abroad, leaving him under the care of Tony. It was never officially stated –the cause of the murder, but many analysts suspected it had something to do with conspiracy theories going sideways. After graduating, Steve returned to his family’s house in Cumberland to set up shop, and it had been sailing smoothly until a cyclone called Pepper Potts clashed at his door. 

After Bucky gave his statement, the First Lieutenant went to great lengths to cover up his son’s name and identity, to protect him, and the protocol didn’t deny him that. But the townspeople were becoming even more troublesome with their meddling so Bucky flew back to his university, escorted by an officer his father appointed, to finish his studies.

It’s probably useless to mention his father’s protectiveness increasing after Bucky made it back to Shelbyville. Clint was no different either. Always calling, and never failing to leave him text messages on his phone. And it’s safe to say that after his return, Bucky never trusted easily. As for going beyond the customary greetings, Bucky still has that listed under never-in-a-million-years.

 

It wasn’t easy, Dr. Strange, his shrink, keeps telling him.  And although he admits so himself, he doesn’t know if it’s really about just that, or, maybe, there’s something else. Actually, there’s always something else. When Bucky told him about the nightmares that hunt him still, he said it’s normal, even him literally screaming himself awake. The doctor said his panic attacks are the manifestation of his inner fears and doubts, and that, with all things considered, are normal.

But when Bucky told him he’d been masturbating to the scarred name on his back for a while now, the doctor ascribed it to frustration.

 

And that is what something else is.

Bucky doesn’t go to the cemetery, because he can’t face the people who died because of Steve, and he doesn’t go with Clint because he can’t face his best friend when he remembers the nights he spends, moaning, with his mind filled with Steve’s face and hands.

He hates himself. He loathes it with all the passion Steve couldn’t burn away, but he can’t stop. He tried a few times, but he just couldn’t what with his mind wandering ways he never thought possible and distractors not doing as effective job as he predicted they would. It’s unfair to his friends, it’s unfair to Peter and his girlfriend who blasted off into specks of ash, and it’s unfair to Sam and Wanda who got beheaded, or Natasha who died by his own hands.

 

“Starting day will be on September, but I’m leaving early, probably in late August, you know, to settle down, commingle.” Bucky tells his father, now taking another bite of his turkey club, eyes flecking about the interior of the busy restaurant. At first, it started as a precautionary measure: making sure Steve or any of his men don’t sneak up on him to drag him right back to that hell. But now it’s become a habit.

“Isn’t it a little early, I mean you only finished your practicum recently,” his father worries his brows, creasing them over a marred forehead. “Applying for a job so soon?”

“That’s usually how it works, dad.” Bucky informs on a thin smile, “Besides, I think I’m ready to come out of my shell. I can’t do that holed up in my room.”

His father nods, albeit tentatively. “Did you tell Clint about any of this?”

“I’ll send him a postcard.” Bucky doesn’t look up and shrugs.

“Bucky” His father heaves out a sigh, dropping his sandwich back on the dish.

Said man’s eyes lift up, landing on his father’s.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two but I know  _something_  is going on,” he starts, “and I might not understand but I know for a fact that Clint cares about you.” He reminds with the look in his eyes relenting, “and you need to know that if there are things you can’t tell me, Clint is your exception.”

“I can’t.” Bucky deadpans, now forgetting about his food and leaning back on the backrest of the chair, shoulders deflating, “I can’t tell him. I can’t tell  _you_.”

His father perks up, honed expression showing his concern, “what do you mean, son?” he asks, “What do you mean you can’t tell us?”

Bucky faces away for a second, bottom lip sliding between rows of teeth, “nothing,” he mumbles before looking back at his father, “I applied for a school in Enola, dad. They had a spot for a counselor and I said I’d take it.”

“Eno-…” his father echoes in dismay before levering up to his feet, rigid with anger, “so out of the question, son, you aren’t going back there.”

Bucky breathes out a bitter sigh, “I didn’t want to say anything about this job because I knew you’d be against it, and could you please sit down? You’re making a scene.” After his father sits down with a muttered ‘you bet your ass I’m against it’, Bucky meets his glare, “Look, dad,” he resumes, “Dr. Stephen said that if I wanted to defeat my demons, I’d had better face them.”

“We’re changing him,” his father grouches.

Bucky’s smile is now fond, “no, we’re not.” He tells him, absentmindedly scrubbing at his spiky stubble with his knuckles, “in fact, I’d like to end the therapy.”

His father gazes at him searchingly, “and what’s with the bright attitude all of a sudden, Buck, you’re not doing any drugs, are you?”

Bucky chortles a laugh that falls between a stutter and a chuckle, “I am actually,” he confesses, “My shrink gets quite the inspiration once his hand starts scribbling away on a prescription paper.”

The older man nods and mirrors his son’s beam, smiley eyes getting overcome by wrinkles.

“I’ll be fine, dad.” Bucky says when the other isn’t expecting it, “It’s gonna be hard to swallow at first, but hey, I’m a survivor,” he survived worse. “I’ve got this.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I’ll make sure to tell you, I promise.” He leans forward now to tap his father on the shoulder, “Three years at the shooting range won’t be for nothing. I can take care of myself, pops, don’t grow grey hair over this.”

 

*******

 

Enola’s luster summer faded, and crisp fall rolled over, announcing the opening of a new year. It’s been two months since Bucky moved out of his father’s house, but being an early riser, hustling himself out on errands with a mouth running quicker than his brain, he blended in easily.

He’s been counseling only a few students; it’s a relatively small town, smaller than Shelbyville. So it’s no surprise if the waiting room outside his office is usually very empty, but as long as it doesn’t affect his paycheck, Bucky is content. He is keeping regular contact with his father. Even Edith, Clint’s mother, calls in from time to time to check on him. His neighbors are nice peoples and the landlady only shows up at the beginning of each month.

There is scarcely a detail in his new lifestyle that he is not content with, and it’s really the best life Bucky can ask for.

Except for the woods overshadowing the town…

 

It’s been a couple of months now and Bucky has been fighting the urge that resurfaces in the silence of the night to take his sleek-black motorcycle and ride towards those woods. He doesn’t know if ‘facing his demons’ is the header of his actions, or if it’s the ‘whacking-off’. Bucky isn’t frustrated, not sexually, that is. He went out on a few dates last year alone, actually with the same person. Peter Parker, a sweet, thoughtful guy who never pushed Bucky for more than the sporadic kisses they shared here and there until Bucky gnawed it down with a ‘sorry, I can’t do this. You’re a great guy but I’m not ready for this’, and although Peter took his lips in a forceful kiss then to prove his feelings, it only brought on a nasty panic attack and Peter found himself apologizing and eventually acquiescing to Bucky’s decision.

 

October, the epitome of autumn, opens a new chapter, a new day for new life experiences to be acquired. Okay, maybe not today. It’s Friday so Bucky is lounging at a café, cheek propped on his palm and eyes looking out the window at his side, taking in the hazy light of the setting sun.

He vaguely remembers a waitress coming up to refill his cup and then disappearing behind the counter, he also remembers Clint leaving him a thrashing in the voicemail for not returning any of his calls. He isn’t sure what makes up his mind when he fishes his phone out, lays it on the table and stares at it. It’s been months, and although he can’t bring himself to it, Clint has a right to know. He taps at his number, looks up, gazing out at the far off tree rows before connecting the call.

“Bucky!”

Said guy can practically see Clint’s tail wagging.

“Hey, buddy.” He greets back, voice steady, “Got your voicemail.”

“Yeah, about that” –Bucky hears the wince– “Didn’t mean to rip into you, but you weren’t giving me much choice.”

“I get it, man. Don’t sweat it.” He assures, taking a small sip of his coffee, “how’ve ya been? How’s Laura?”

“Good, been good, she says hi.” He tells him after a pregnant pause, “I’m more worried about you actually. Your dad told me you applied for a job in Cumberland. Wanted to head your way, but boss’ not giving me a chance. But dude, what were you thinking?”

“Clint, I need to do this.”

“No, you don’t.” Clint retorts, vehemently, “please, Bucky, just, go for somewhere else. You got accepted there, I’m sure you’ll get accepted somewhere else.”

Bucky shakes his head, realizing in a moment Clint can’t see it. “I’ve already signed the contract, can’t undo that.”

Clint exhales noisily, “well, are you okay? I mean it must be weird hanging around that place after everything. Do you need me to come? I got so worried when you stopped picking up my calls.”

“Yeah, that was mean, sorry.” Bucky admits with a small voice, “It’d be great if I can see you all soon, but it’s be better if you don’t come here. It’s not like we have a good history with this town, and coming here would only cause you pain.” He tells him, frantic with his words, “I need to do this so I can move on, that doesn’t mean you should do the same. It’s different.”

“I understand. I do.”

But…

“But why live there? You’d have just gone there a couple of times for whatever therapy you’re undergoing and be done with it.”

“Clint,” Bucky clears his throat with a quick swallow, “there are a few things that I can’t talk about now, and I know this feels like I’m keeping things from you but you gotta trust me on this.” He pleads, “Some things are better left unsaid.”

Clint is silent for a long pause after that, and then he speaks again, “If there’s something you’re not telling me to protect me then I can’t trust you on this. You already sacrificed one for me, you’re not doing it again.” He beseeches, “So, Buck, please, whatever’s on your mind just tell me.”

And Bucky, against his better judgment, tells him.

Tells him how Natasha was alive when Clint left, how he killed her, ‘rammed that knife right into her chest’ and ended her life. He tells him about the not-hypnotized Steve Rogers whose real story never made it to the papers since the police covered everything up with gas explosion so it wouldn’t wreak havoc among citizens. He tells him about Mrs. Potts, and how he locked her up in the surgery room and left her to her death.

And when he is done, Clint is a crying mess, wailing Natasha’s name and cutting off his own sobs with mumbled ‘I’m sorry’.

Bucky disconnects the call without a forewarning, not wanting to hear Clint’s miserable keens anymore.

 

Later that night, Clint sends him a text message, simply thanking him for telling him. Nothing more, and nothing less.

 

The sun rises the next morning grazing over Bucky’s stiff limbs in peace, which bespeaks another day of chilling cold. He checks his phone for any new texts or missed calls and finds none. He showers and changes into his blue plaid hoodie, dark jeans and boots, and heads out to a diner for breakfast. When the clock hit nine and a half, Bucky rode his bike towards the woods.

 

He’s had an entirety of four years and a couple of months to think this over, and despite his doubts and fears, he’s finally decided if he really wanted an end to his nightmares, he’d better seek the cure inside these woods.

Half an hour later finds him at the road Deputy Coulson picked him from. He pulls over, once the whir of the engine dies, the silence overtakes the space. He hears a few birds chirping, branches and shrubs rustling here and there. And for an overwhelming second where his memories collide, dizziness almost knocks him off balance but he holds himself by the handlebars of the bike, eyes squinting in the open.

 

Dry leaves crunch up under his boots as he trudges farther into the woods. A deafening, unsettling silence spreads around, gifting Bucky with a moment’s hesitation but he cuts right through it, wanting to reach the end of this chapter.

Not too long and he starts hearing the faint burble of water.

He follows it.

He comes upon a river, flowing from bank to bank. He guesses it’s a courtesy of yesterday’s sudden rainfall. A bird squeaks somewhere but the resonance resembles a scream, Bucky rotates around with eyes wide and wary. He walks by the river, head whipping at every ricocheting sound, until he reaches the small pond the cascades created, the pond he had crouched inside while assured every one of his friends were just a few yards away, relaxing under the shade of the tree. 

So this is the cure?

This is how he will conquer his demons; banish them to the empty so he can have a good night’s sleep for once?

A twig snaps behind him.

Bucky swivels around so fast he is surprised at his own speed. All self-admiration seeps out when he finds a bearded, blond, bulky, scar-faced man wearing a coat and tight jeans, and carrying an empty water jug. He’s standing beside a broken log.

Blood rushes to Bucky’s ears, blaring off like a siren. The ground feels like it’s been wiped from underneath his soles, leaving only a hole in its wake. The thud of his heart beating vigorously in his ears is loud, oh God too loud.

Emerald eyes, jaded and dull, are looking back at him. Thick brows are slowly flying up in mild incomprehension.

“Bucky?” 

That voice: that deep, well-defined voice, and the richness and velvetiness of its nuances that belong to Steve Rogers, and only Steve.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally hit 100 kudos! woo woo *blows confetti*

 

 

Passive retching noises echo across the bathroom walls as Bucky, on his knees, spills the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. His fists clutch at the rim of the marble until blood leaves his knuckles. He heaves more gags, but eventually they reduce to mere spasms and shudders. He sags to the wall, face pale and drenched with sweat, and fingers shaking after the exertion.

The memory of meeting the man from his nightmares creeps up on him again, vivid and detailed.

 

Steve stood there as though someone playing the clichéd villain had switched the time machine on and they were back to the day they met for the very first time. The only thing remotely different about the encounter was the horrifying memories connecting them now, and the only thing different about the man was the scar on his cheek which Bucky had afflicted.  

The man didn’t talk; he only looked Bucky’s way and soon averted his eyes.

Bucky’s chest rose up and down, lungs going after every speck of breath. He could feel every danger sensor in him going off-kilter, warning him about the psychotic terrors manifesting as a humanoid being walking his way. When he tried to move, he realized it wasn’t easy as his limbs had gone numb.

Another loud bird squeaked in the open, startling Bucky to his core. He remained motionless and completely still as the man treaded closer with every step, jug in hand. When he was only a stride’s length away from Bucky where the latter could see the scar as though through a magnifying glass, he swept past him, and the fresh smell of spruce wafted after him.

Bucky’s ears caught the noise of a deep surface getting filled with burbling water, and he guessed Steve was filling up the jug. That was his chance. Steve was busy so he sprinted forward. Leaving the river and Steve behind, and he ran and ran, sharp twigs scraping him in his frenzied run.

He didn’t stop until the bike came into view, parked askew by the dirt road.

 

He remembers riding his bike but doesn’t remember how he got here. All flashbacks from the killers’ chase came back to him when he stepped into his apartment and he scampered towards the bathroom to rid of the bile.

He opens his bleary eyes and inspects the tiled walls; the pungent stench of acid makes him grunt. He flushes the toilet and levers up by supporting himself on the sink. He rinses his mouth and finally leaves the bathroom.

The rest of the afternoon goes in a flash after Bucky plunges on his bed face-first, falling into a fatigue-induced slumber.

 

Heavy lids part open and sapphire-blue eyes meet the morning light streaming in from the window. Bucky turns on his back and faces the ceiling, blowing out a full-bodied sigh.

“What the hell was I thinking?” he berates himself.

He knows he risked a lot by going into the woods, but how was he supposed to know Steve would be there as well? He genuinely thought Steve had died in the fire years ago. So what, the guy leapt out of the flames in the last second? Crawled out of the debris and been trudging inside these woods ever since?

Bucky scrubs his face with a hand.

 Steve was carrying a metal jug. That means he needed a fresh source of water that he probably usually drinks from. It’s not that far-fetched. If Steve did survive the fire then he would become hunted by the law, and he probably figured that out on his own which is why he’s skulking in the woods instead. But if he did figure it out, does that mean Steve’s memories aren’t as wiped as Bucky thought they were. Man used to act like he had no idea a keyword switched his gears on the psychosis. In fact, he’d believed in the life of the lovable neurologist who cared about the wellbeing of a complete stranger having a mental freak-out.

If he has his memories back, does he remember the things he’d done to people before Bucky crossed his path?

Bucky grips a fistful of his hair.

Steve remembered his name; he remembered Bucky.

And Bucky doesn’t know what to make of that.

He spent some nights in the past two years fondling himself at the memory of Steve’s hands on him, sometimes gentle but other times rough… the phantom of a touch, just barely there accompanying the memory –his phone suddenly rings, rousing him from his monologue.

He stares at Clint’s ID flashing in the screen of his phone, and debates whether to pick the call or not knowing his friend is only calling for closure. He told him about the things he spent years keeping buried, but now that they were in the open, Clint would give himself the liberty to ask, to inquire like it’s a fucking movie premiere he missed.

“’morning,” he mumbles, connecting the call eventually.

“You still in bed?” the other marvels, “dude, it’s eleven.”

“It’s Sunday.” Bucky counters.

Surprisingly, Clint doesn’t try to coax answers out of him; he doesn’t even bring up any of the stuff he told him that day. Clint only… chats.

 

Around two in the afternoon, Bucky dons his jacket and collects the keys to his bike, and with a face set in hard lines, he leaves his apartment.

The ride to the same dirt road doesn’t take him long, and by the time he reaches the same spot from yesterday, the sky is already veiled by gloomy clouds. He gets off his vehicle, removes his helmet and hooks it to the handlebars. He eyes the trees warily and marches ahead, following the same lane towards the river.

As the bushes clear out from his path, Bucky finally sees someone dressed in a coat crouched by the river, a jug in hand. His steps almost falter halfway, but he wills his legs to move eventually, finally standing behind the man.

Steve fills up the jug to the brim and finally lifts up. He reels around and his eyes lock on Bucky’s.

 “What’re you doing here?” The blond inquires in his deep voice.

The question awakes something in Bucky, alertness, he assumes, and so he refocuses.

“Steve,” he manages at last, “what the hell is this?”

Those thick brows come down into a deep furrow, “I’d ask you the same thing.”

Bucky gets his legs back under his control and moves a little forward, “you’re supposed to be dead.”

“Clearly, I’m not.” Steve restates the fact.

“But… how?”

Steve attempts to walk past him again, but this voice in the back of Bucky’s mind urges him to act, do something –anything. Just get the man to explain. So as Steve saunters past him, Bucky’s hand shoots out to the man’s elbow, pulling him so their eyes can meet. But he didn’t count on the force with which he pulled the man, obviously unbalancing him, and causing the jug in his hand to fall and clank on the ground. The two of them watch as the water spills to the dirt, soaking it.

Steve wrenches his hand from Bucky’s hold and crouches down to pick his jug.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bucky grits, his eyes fuming with rage.

Steve stands up again, bringing the jug up with him. “This is drinking water,” he hisses.

“I don’t care.” Bucky huffs, haughtily.

“I know you don’t.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at the man in raw confusion.

“Go back” the other orders, heavy-lidded eyes glaring back at Bucky.

Instead of recoiling to the farthest corner across the earth, instead of getting his bearings together and fleeing and instead of feeling dread to his very core, Bucky’s entire body heats up.

As he remains silent, Steve simply returns to the river again.

“You told me you were going back to the fire. Did you eventually change your mind about dying?” Bucky asks, only his profile is facing Steve.

Steve ignores him and watches with rapt as the water fills his jug.

“What the hell happened after I left, Steve?” Bucky bellows, his words echo off the tree boles.

Steve straightens up to full length again, and this time, he doesn’t look Bucky’s way when he walks away.

“Is that it?” Bucky scoffs after him, “you go from torturing me and raping me to ignoring me altogether?”

The statement brings Steve to a stop, and the fucking anticipation that sears though Bucky at that is unbelievable. But Steve soon mutters a brisk “Go home, Bucky.” Over his shoulder, and then resumes the walk.

 

 

A week, it has been a whole week since he met Steve in the woods.

He’s not rooting for another reunion, God. After he came back home last Sunday, he had nightmares. It was a miracle he survived that night without sleeping pills. Only reason why he’s under the shower head facing the mirror is to reflect, and maybe atone.

Last night, Steve came to him in his dream

_He was lying in his bed when Steve walked into the room, same room Bucky is renting at this building. He was wearing a white dress shirt, and black trousers. He stomped his way to the bed firmly. The same footsteps that used to send Bucky to his ruin back in that enamel-floored room. He climbed the bed, braced his arms on either side of Bucky’s middle and then leaned forward. Bucky looked up at him, the blank stare in Steve’s eyes setting his alarms off. He felt his brows twitch in question when Steve only continued to stare at him, but without a warning, the settings of the room changed. That’s where Bucky should have realized it was a nightmare; the way Steve had Bucky’s wrists strapped overhead, and his legs parted. The way he stroked his naked and flushed skin with the touch of a leather whip, and the way he toyed with Bucky’s body afterwards should all have been indications to a bad dream, but Bucky fucking liked it._

He stares horrified at the mirror.

Bucky enjoyed it, and unlike his other dreams, this one felt more real, and more exhilarating.

The breath leaves his lungs starving, and he cups his mouth in an attempt to stifle in the anguished whimpers of disgust and fear, fear of what he might become. He’s always fought the idea. In the dread of the night, when worry awakes him, he always tries to envision himself as a better person, especially after what he’d undergone. Now, he was beginning to fret over the fact that, maybe, this madness is just meant to be.

 

As he stands by his bed, small towel on head, he scrolls down his messages. He finds a couple of texts from his family, also from his school about some parent-teacher conference at 5 where they’ll be having moronic conversations.

Bucky was outspoken in his way of stating facts to Steve, and he has this feeling in his guts that it did something to the man. Besides, all he said was utter the truth: Steve was going from raping him and torturing him to ignoring him altogether. How is that a byproduct of an ordeal they went through together? Steve had been played with, and Bucky and his friends were the victims –a few of others. You don’t ignore each other on the street after something so horrendous like that.  

He flings his phone on the nightstand, and the towel on the window sill. He puts on his outdoor garments after eating his breakfast. He steps outside. The autumnal breeze races to his nostrils, making him shudder at its chilliness, and he plunges his hands into the side pockets of his jacket. He doesn’t take his motorcycle outside today because he is just going to take a stroll in the neighborhood. It’s a peaceful morning, and hopefully, the fresh air will clear his head from shadows holding him down, wanting, so badly, to encage his mind.

His boots stomp on fallen, dry leaves. They crunch under his soles as he meanders his way through the narrow alleys. He passes by shops whose owners greet him with a wave of their hands. Bucky smiles charmingly and waves back, too.

 

He doesn’t even realize where his legs have taken him until he finds himself standing by the woods. Tall, naked trees swaying like giant, skeleton hands. Their rustle so eerie, and the resultant shudder that courses through Bucky is almost too daunting. He beholds the sight of rust-colored boles and leaf-strewn ground with wide, sparkly eyes –like he’s just found the gate to freaking Narnia. However, he knows that, deep down, only nightmares are skulking beyond.

As though to uncover the novel mystery, Bucky steps forward…

 

He ends up standing by the burbling river, hands in pockets. He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t even bother to call out –it might have an unwanted outcome anyway if a wolf hears his noise. He just stands there, like a ghost succumbing to its sad ending.

Another wind whooshes, moving the tree branches with it. The susurration echoes across the tree lines like spirits whispering about an impending occurrence. He hopes it’s a pleasant one; although, trudging into the woods can’t possibly be pleasant when he knows Steve hunted him here once.

 

As the clock hits three, Bucky looks up from his crouch at the darkened sky. He attempts to lever up to his achy legs, but a sound of bushes crackling piques his attention. He lifts up very slowly with his head reeled to the direction of the noise, and waits.

A man in a knee-length black coat, and bleached jeans and combat boots, holding a jug in a hand, heads Bucky’s way. He panics inwardly at first, because he’s seen that jug a couple of times by now, he knows to whom it belongs. He just can’t will himself to get over the fact that Steve still showed up, even after last time’s mishap.

Steve stops a few feet away when he locks eyes with Bucky’s, but soon rolls his. Avoiding the other, he attempts to aim for the water. Bucky watches with raw awe how Steve, same as last time and the time before it, brings the jug to the brook and fills it.

“So,” Bucky begins, and he knows it’s the first intimation of a possibly one-sided conversation. “Going for normal? Is this your apple-pie life?”

As expected, Steve ignores him.

Bucky feels irked at being ignored, and he decides to go for straight-to-the-point. “Do you remember last thing I said the other day?”

To his surprise, Steve nods. It is carried on in a very slow motion, like he has neck cramps and nodding would aggravate his pains.

“Are you still going to ignore me, even though you and I went through all that together?”

Steve remains silent.

Bucky nods to himself, prompting it to reign in his anger. “Fine,” he hisses, “how about you just answer yes or no, then?”

Steve continues to fill up the jug.

“Do you remember what you did to me?”

Steve nods.

Bucky’s brows arch up in astonishment, he never imagined Steve would go along with his request. “Okay,” he clears his throat, “Do you remember what Mrs. Potts did to you?”

Steve nods again.

“So you remember going back into the fire and not wanting to leave.”

“I do.” Steve finally replies with words.

“Why are you still alive, then?”

“I got out of the house in the last minute.” Steve admits, “I guess I didn’t want to die, after all.”

“You said you deserved it.”

“It doesn’t mean I did.”

Bucky scowls at the back of the man’s head, “That makes no fucking sense.”

“It does, to me.” The man replies, curtly.

The spirits murmur again as a persistent wind whooshes among the trees.

“Where are you staying now?”

“I cannot tell you that.” Steve shrugs, now finally standing up to full length.

Bucky demands “Why not?”

“I don’t want a repeat of what happened four years ago.” Steve admits, “I left everything behind, including your memory. I don’t want to be dragged right back to that.” He slowly turns around. “You, being here, is bringing up bad memories, and I’m not very fond of that.”

Bucky’s frown morphs into a harsh glare. “That’s rich coming from you, bastard!” He bellows, now stepping closer to Steve. “If there’s someone who has the right to say that, it’s me! You’re not very fond of me being here? Well, tough. I’m not going anywhere. I lived months in hell with you. You toyed with my body, you treated me like human waste and now you have the fucking gall to make it sound like it’s my fault!”

“I said you bring back bad memories.” Steve corrects, “And personally, I’m not fond of that.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky concludes.

“Then I guess I should do the honor.” Steve cocks his head.

Bucky lifts a hand to stop him mid-step, “you’re not going anywhere, either.”

Steve stands completely still for a moment, like a bolt of lightning recharging, only to hit again, fast and deadly. He scrubs his bearded jaw with his unoccupied hand, and sighs. “What’ you want from me, Buck?” His voice sounds so darn defeated, it’s hilarious. This guy used to raise utter fear in Bucky with just a stare, for fuck’s sake! “I don’t have anything to give you. I don’t have money or stocks, I’m broke. I can’t even afford a biscuit. I have nothing that you’d want to take away from me, same way I took your innocence…”

Bucky falters at that. Yes, Steve took the most precious thing a human can have: their innocence. Bucky’s eyes start to water as he submerges within the memories. This man standing before him stole his everything, and left him nothing but an empty shell, for four, fucking years. “That’s right, you bastard.” He suddenly grouses, “You took everything away from me, and I can never be the same.”

Steve lowers his head.

Without his consent, Bucky’s legs dash to the other man. He latches at his collar, pulling him closer to his raging breath. “You stole everything from me. You expect me now to just let it go? To just forget about it because me, being here, fucking brings stuff up? Are you in your right mind, or what? I don’t give a damn about your little scary night dreams. I don’t even care if you’re penniless. I’m going to make you relive the hell you made me go through, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it!”

Steve scoffs. For the first time, he actually scoffs. Bucky crinkles his face in wild confusion, and Steve tips his head rearward and lets out a laugh. Bucky’s grip on the coat’s lapses tightens, and he frowns. Steve suddenly cuts off his own laughter.

“This is fucking fantastic!”

Bucky’s eyes widen in complete horror. It’s like a déjà-vu: Dark, evil and sadistic Steve, acting maniacal. His tightened grips loosen up, and fall, each at a side.

“Listen to me, Bucky, and listen carefully.” He starts, “You don’t want to get yourself involved with me again. I may be in control of myself now, but that’s not to say a part of me doesn’t relish the thought of skinning you alive.”

Bucky’s lungs race after every waft of breath, hoping it’s not the last. His face pales so bad the dead have nothing on him. Above all, he can’t feel the ground underneath his feet.

“Now, that’s a good look on you.” Steve smirks, “what, did you think you can stroll up here and bark orders at me, are you fucking insane?”

Bucky shakes his head in disbelief.

“Look here,” Steve’s expression hardens, “I’m only going to say this once, I want you to leave and never come back.”

Bucky’s knees give out under him, and he falls to the ground. Wide, unbelieving eyes on the leaves scattered across the earth.

“If you sneak back here, there’s no telling of what I might do to you, understand?” and without waiting for a reply, that perhaps wasn’t going to be worded anyway, Steve hugs his jug closer to his abdomen and tramps away.

 

A bird chirps happily in the far-off distance, and the dry branches continue to crackle and crunch. The burbling water flows in a calming sound, enveloping the low, breathless noises Bucky is making.

He is on his four, his eyes on the ground. He digs his nails into the dirt and drags two fistfuls.

He can’t believe it…

He can’t fucking believe it.

He looks between his thighs. He scrutinizes the bulge there –a telltale sign of his erection. “You have got to be kidding me!”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a good mood so decided to drop this :">

 

 

After the parent-teacher conference, Bucky headed to his place. He doesn’t remember the nature of the main issue he and the parents of the students discussed, but he guesses it’s something moronic. Those talks usually steer from what benefits the students to ‘I keep telling him to stop fooling around, but he doesn’t want to listen. I don’t know what to do’, which he knows could be solved with a little spanking. Of course, he doesn’t tell them that, although he knows it’s a great strategy.

 

He lies there on bed sprawled like a starfish, staring up at the plain ceiling.

Steve Rogers remembers everything. He remembers doing those things to Bucky, and he remembers what that bitch lady Pepper did to him as well. Which, okay, Bucky has predicted at some point, but how in the blue hell did the entire reunion end up with him having a frigging hard-on.

It would have made a little sense if what connected him with Steve were affectionate sentiments reignited by the reunion, but the man… -Bucky clutches at his hair at the memory– what they had wasn’t innocent, it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t something to be had in the first place. So it doesn’t make sense that he got hard hearing Steve relishing the thought of skinning him alive. So, what, is he a freaking masochist now? Did those times Steve tortured him result in some fucked-up tendency to derive sexual gratification from pain and humiliation?

Did he develop Stockholm syndrome, or does he sympathize with his captor now? –he’s never found anything funnier. He feels nothing towards Steve, so it’s safe to say he isn’t sympathizing with that bastard who ruined his life. Even during captivity, Bucky never felt the need to rely on his captive for survival; he always hated the son of a bitch.

This is why he can’t make head or tail of what happened at the last moments after Steve left him to his own devices. Why did he get erect back at the woods?

 

 

 

Buzz.

Buzz, buzz.

Bucky’s eyes shoot open, wild, hazel-blue eyes catching the morning light. He hurls a hand to the clock to shut off the alarm, and the other scratches his chest. He sits up, bed hair sticking out to different directions.

It’s Saturday, and he delights in the idea of the whole day off. He gets to sleep in, have late breakfast and call it lunch, just for the heck of it. He gets to leave the bed unmade, and the curtains of the windows drawn. Nobody gives him lip for any of that, and he doesn’t feel bad about it.

 

Half past two in the afternoon finds Bucky inside the woods again, stalling by the river bank with his hands in his pockets. He scrapes at some pebble with the sole of his boot, and finally kicks it into the water. He’s noticed how it suddenly dropped cold, but he doesn’t think that’s enough to call it quit. He knows Steve will come here again, with that stupid jug. He knows Steve will glare at him, perhaps give him the hairy eye-roll, but he won’t skin him alive.

If Steve was saying the truth, he would have skinned him alive the day Bucky first showed up here.

He knows the spell had been broken that day at Pepper’s office right before the fire. There’s no way Steve would fall off the wagon now that his sanity has been put on a leash. Bucky is risking a lot by coming here despite Steve’s warning, or threat, but he feels like if he doesn’t, he’ll be the one to lose his mind.

His watch shows three fifteen, the whooshing of the wind has become more violent with more howling involved.  He decides to wait more, just a little bit more and then he’ll leave.

Those bushes crackle again, the signal of Steve’s arrival.  Bucky whips towards the source of the noise, and waits. The bearded blond slowly emerges from between the bushes and the naked branches, dressed in the same clothes from the previous day. This time, instead of the usual jug, he’s carrying a 2.5 gallon plastic, white jug. He glares at Bucky when their eyes meet, and he gives a very hairy eye-roll, just like Bucky predicted.

“I thought you’d stand me up.” Bucky snorts, humorlessly.

Steve walks past him to fill up the plastic jug. “Go home.”

“Or what, you’ll threaten me to death?” Bucky’s voice is defiant, “I know you can’t hurt me, Steve. You might as well drop the act.”

Steve leaves the bottle under the cascades and spins around to face him. He scowls. “Oh, let me guess, you’re here to make me relive the hell I made you go through.”

Bucky only gives a crooked smile.

“And how’s that working out for you?” Steve cocks his head, like a cheeky brat. “I don’t see your toolbox, Bucky, going for Catherine Wheel there, you fucking brat, or maybe something more poetic like The Pear of Anguish? What’s your brilliant plan, huh?”

Bucky knows that they both know he’ll never be able to lift a weapon against someone if they don’t deserve it. Although, he thinks Steve deserved it, it was before the magic word was revealed. It wouldn’t be fair to this man if Bucky did set his plan on motion: torturing the man who tortured him under the influence of hypnosis. How’s that for more credits in his career.

“I don’t want to have anything to do with you.” Steve finally admits on a defeated sigh.

Bucky clenches his fists by his sides.

“Please,” Steve breathes out, “Just leave me the hell alone. I’m not hurting anyone, and I’m not hurting you anymore, so just leave.”

Wordlessly, Bucky drops his chin to his chest.

Steve lifts the plastic jug and ambles past Bucky. When he almost reached the bushes, Bucky hollered aloud. “I’m not going anywhere, you hear me, you bastard?”

Steve comes to a standstill, and the water within the cap-less bottle sloshes and spills to the ground. “Suit yourself.” He says, and walks away again.

 

Bucky thought of following Steve to whatever hellhole he usually crawls of. He thought of busting the man’s hiding spot, so he wouldn’t have a safety zone to pull back to. Eventually, he decided not to. Steve said he had nothing to lose, and grating on the nerves of a man who has nothing to lose is risky, and not to mention reckless. In the past, he wouldn’t have cared, but he has a job now, and he has to think about his family as well.

 

Before he knew it, the clock hit seven. Angry, charcoal clouds hang low in the sky like suffocating soot. The damp-smelling air brisked up its pace, shaking the giant dry tree branches like a meadow of dandelions.

Bucky looks up, a drop of rain lands on his cheek, and he knows he can’t postpone the impending downpour. The sky unleashes a torrent that exhibits no sign of stopping soon, and the water that was calmly burbling in the river, rages in its full glory.

Bucky scurries to the trunk of a skinny tree, thinking that if he takes cover there, the storm will pass by and ignore his existence. He doesn’t count on the jugged flashes of lightning cracking the grey sky. Aside from the fear, Bucky can’t resist the excitement of being the only one seeing this, and living it. Of course, any other person would be home, wrapped in a warm blanket and complaining about the cold, but he’s not exactly normal. After the lightning strike, Bucky leaves the temporary sanctuary he found at the bole of the tree and strides forward. He is actually surrounded by trees, and if one of them were to fall on him, he’d have no one to blame but himself.

“What’re you doing?” The velvety voice asks, and Bucky stumbles in his attempt to turn, finding Steve standing by the bushes with a lantern in hand.

They hold eye contact even through the wind.

“I missed my chance to go back.” Bucky hollers, hoping his voice will soar above the howling of the wind.

Steve rolls his eyes, and motions with his head. Bucky’s brows twitch in confusion before he deciphers the gesture. He watches as Steve traces back his trail beyond those bushes, and for the first time, Bucky will uncover the mystery that resides there.

He thrusts his hands into the side pockets of his jacket, and follows Steve.

 

They meander their way through the storm for a few minutes before Bucky sees the familiar cabin just ahead. He freezes to the spot, and he knows the cold has nothing to do with it.

He remembers that cabin, and he remembers trudging to it in a full-moon night with Steve hunting him. He remembers the pain and fatigue he was enduring that night while praying for a miracle to happen. Eventually, it did. Although he got dragged back to the cell, he made it out. This is what he should focus on: he made it out.

Steve bounds up the couples of stairs at the porch right to the front door, he opens it and skids inside. Bucky takes a deep breath in and lets it out, shakes his head and finally follows Steve’s suit.

 

Bucky shuts the door in the face of the howling wind, and welcomes the silence and the dim light that follow. From his hunch by the closed front door, he scans the interior of the infamous cabin.

There’s a worn armchair by the window, with a mountain of books piled at its foot. A wooden table in the middle (on top of which Steve placed the lantern) adjoined to two wooden chairs. He guesses that’s where Steve eats his meals. There’s a counter of logs bundled together providing a ledge upon which to display all sorts of lined clay and wooden utensils and cutlery. A single, tatty bed nestled on the opposite corner, a dark brown cabinet next to it.

He whips his head to the noise of crackling and finds Steve by the stone-structured fireplace, prodding the fire with an iron poker.

“Shouldn’t you open the window first?” He wonders aloud.

“Be useful.” Steve tells him.

Bucky clicks his lips in distaste, slips out of his shoes and aims the window to open it a little. “This is where you’ve been staying the past four years?”

Steve flings a couple of axed logs into the fire and sits up. He walks back to the 2.5 plastic jug he placed by the door. Bucky rolls his chin, annoyed at being ignored. Steve then takes the jug in his hand and heads to a closed door, he opens it, and Bucky catches sight of the bathroom, and all the happenings of that night race to him.

 

_[“Open up, I’m kinda itching to see you.”]_

_[“You carved your name on my back!” “Yeah, did you like it?”]_

 

Bucky’s pulse raves inside his ears, threatening to make his head explode. He clutches at his chest and stumbles rearward. He pants in shallow, uneven breathes.

 

_[“Your life is mine, you bastard. It’s the final rule. You have no right to end your life without my permission. If you do something like this again, I’ll make sure to bring you back and hurt you to the point you’re gonna want to die again, but you won’t, ‘cause I won’t let you.”]_

 

Bucky scurries towards the front door, yanks it open and steps outside, a hand on his mouth. He scrambles down the set of steps and lands on the wet ground on four. He retches, vomiting his breakfast all over the small puddles.

It was a mistake to come here. He shouldn’t have followed Steve so readily to the swamp of nightmarish reminders. He should have left the minute Steve told him to go home. God, this is too much. He was going to kill himself in the bathroom of this cabin. He was going to give up. Heck, he even managed to send himself unconscious and half hoped his tongue would block his airway.

He hears the door of the cabin creaks, and he knows Steve is standing there, watching his miserable state. He always hated the hopelessness Steve planted in him, the fear and the despair. He always hated feeling his self-loathing reaching the brim and overflowing.

Now, it’s like it’s happening all over again: him yielding to his shadows, and Steve watching him being weak.

“Leave me alone!” He manages to holler, but soon retches again.

The door creaks again after a minute.

The rain doesn’t fucking let up as Bucky remains on his four, wallowing in self-pity. He feels the joints in his back starting to protest, aching and pulling. There’s nothing to expel from his stomach so he levers up to his feet, wobbling. He seriously considers going back to his apartment, storm can go to hell. He examines the tall trees swaying under the brunt of the wind’s force, and the rain-full currents slapping him tirelessly. Then, a flash of lightening zaps again, illuminating everything like glaring headlights. And it’s soon followed by a clap of thunder. Bucky knows the risks of being outside in a storm like this, let alone walk under it. He collects himself and turns around. He walks the set of steps, and finds a clay cup of water on the large handrail post of the porch’s railing.

Bucky’s shoulders sag and his former fighting spirit dissipates to melancholy and depression.

He walks inside the cabin again, cup in hand. He finds Steve by the counter, rummaging around for something. Bucky trudges to the table and sits on the chair. He crosses his arms on the table and rests his head on them. He watches keenly how Steve takes two wooden bowls and a plate.

Steve dashes to the fireplace and lifts the four sardine skewers he must have placed there when Bucky ran outside. He brings them to the counter and places them on the plate. He also takes out a copper stockpot that has probably been through the two world wars, and puts it on the counter. He uses a wooden ladle to scoop rice from the pot and pour it in the bowls, sets everything on a rustic tray with spoons to go with, and brings it to the table Bucky is currently sitting at.

“Wash up first.” He tells Bucky, now fanning down on the other chair.

Bucky nuzzles his arms, and soon feels a shudder running through him at the dampness of his jacket sleeves. He sits up, scrubs a hand over his face and groans.

“I told you to leave me alone, didn’t I?” He scowls at Steve.

Steve’s empty stare doesn’t change as he picks his share of two fish skewers, and the bowl of rice. He picks his spoon and stabs it into the rice.

Bucky eyes his share of the food, his upset stomach complains again. He groans and drinks more of the water Steve brought him earlier. Steve is eating his food like Hell hounds are at his tail. Watching him eat with such a big appetite makes Bucky hungry. He is hungry, but he knows the moment he’ll eat, he will get sick again, and that’s the worst part of the whole process. He perks up, though, when Steve pushes his chair to the back, making it squeak and startle Bucky.

Steve heads back to the counter again, which he uses as the kitchen. He delves into the holes beneath, finally coming out with a small glass container. He comes back to the table, slams the container next to Bucky’s meal until the cutlery and the lantern shake.

“It's honey.” He said, “Eat a spoon of that to feel better.”

“Still playing doctor?” Bucky scoffs.

To his surprise, Steve actually pales and his shoulders flinch. His hand that was aiming to lift his spoon stops mid-air, and his eyes widen.

Bucky, for a stupid second, wants to take it back. It was childish and uncalled for, especially if all Steve did was offer treatment for his stomachache. However, the bitter tang of his vomit is still fresh in the back of his throat, and he blames Steve for it. So what’s so nuts about calling a reprisal?

Steve nibbles at his bottom lip for a moment, glistered with the oil of sardine. He blinks sporadically before eventually jabbing the spoon into the rice again. He doesn’t stop until there’s no scrapes left. He lifts his bowl and spoon and skewers, and heads to the front door.

Soon after Steve walks out, Bucky hears clinking and cluttering, and he assumes Steve is washing the utensils. He seizes the moment of the man’s absence to drool over the delicious-smelling grilled sardine. He gets a throwback to the family BBQ during sunshine summer afternoons, Styrofoam cups and plates filling up the long, narrow table, and gleeful squeaks of children soaring in the backyard. All of it now encroached in darkness and despair that just doesn’t seem to want to leave him the fuck alone.

He pushes the plate away and leans back on the headrest of the chair, eyeing the logs forming the ceiling. He inhales and exhales, chest rising and falling.

 

Steve treads back inside, cutting off the howls of the wind by the slam of the door, startling Bucky again. He pays no heed to the vigorous jolt taking over the intruder’s body because of him, and kicks off his boots and carries on walking to the armchair by the window. He takes off his coat, hangs it on the handle of the window, and then he sits on the armchair, a hand stretching to peck out a book from the pile.

There’s a small voice deep within Bucky’s head, screaming, craving to be heard. He tries to listen to it, see its purpose, but all it gives him are flashbacks of Steve fucking him rough and deep. He lets out a strange choked-off noise and drops his face on his hands. This is absolutely the worst! He isn’t getting hard again, especially not in front of this guy.

“Lose the jacket,” Steve suddenly demands.

Bucky’s entire body freezes. All his neurons rewire back to the state he was in back in that cell. How he’d crumble with just an order from Steve, and usually capitulate to his desires. Now, he wants him to strip? Don’t even fucking joke about it, Bucky didn’t survive months of hell to only fall back in the same rut. He is stronger now, although people can argue about his mental health, but physically, he can take down a man the size of Steve.

He doesn’t lift his head when he says “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

Steve keeps silent for a beat before he chuckles, “Don’t flatter yourself, Buck.” He said, “I was just being thoughtful. I don’t give a damn if you catch a cold.”

So he was being considerate?

Bucky slowly starts to feel his cheeks growing hot, “Keep your concern to yourself.” he huffs, “I’m not getting undressed in front of you.”

“I’m not vouching for it to happen.” Steve drawled, now turning the page of the book he’s reading.

“Sounds inconceivable,” he scoffs.

Steve propels his index on the page he’s reading and closes the book. He reels his head to Bucky and repositions himself of the armchair that creaks under his weight. “You seem to misunderstand something,” He starts, “The ‘psycho’ me who used to cut through your flesh may have been fascinated by you,” he said, “but I don’t give a shit about you. And I’m certainly not fascinated by you to want to see you unclothed.”

Bucky’s brows twitch at that.

“So stop thinking too highly of yourself, okay?” he advises, “You’re not that important to me as you may think.”

Bucky’s lips part, revealing his teeth. He sneers into his hands, and soon barks a laugh. He lifts his face off his palms and faces Steve’s blank stare. “You son of a bitch,” he starts, his eyes glowing in the dull lamplight, “you sick son of a bitch.”

“Why,” Steve dares, “because I don’t care about you anymore?” he demands, firmly.

Bucky keeps that half smirk plastered on, despite the rage boiling inside him.

“I don’t.” Steve asserts on a curt shrug before reopening the book again to read it.

Bucky stares at the man’s profile, a hand clutching at the edge of the table until the color leaves his knuckles. He gulps the lump lodged in his throat, and sighs stiffly.

 

 

The sound of fire crackling and the wind whooshing outside carries on without a rest. The storm outside doesn’t get worse, but it doesn’t go away either. From time to time, Bucky hears the rustling of papers being turned, but other than that, the place is dead silent. He shoves the chair backward when he attempts to stand, first movement he’s proceeded to execute in hours. He saunters lethargically to the bathroom and locks himself in.

The creak of the door is so ominous that Steve lifts his eyes off that page, scrutinizing the door Bucky’s just closed. He puts the book aside and goes to poke the sheen embers, so the fire wouldn’t go out. Moments later, something inside the bathroom makes a small thud. Steve pivots his body to the closed door, and knocks.

“Are you still alive in there?” He asks, eyebrows slowly furrowing.

Bucky doesn’t reply immediately, but he does make another noise inside.

“What do I make of that?” Steve wonders, aloud.

“I’m okay,” Bucky grumbles, “just let me be.”

Steve remains by the door for a few more beats before returning to his armchair.

 

“This is bad,” Bucky moans with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

He knew reliving the trauma could cause him discomfort, and a little nausea, it’s understandable. This, however, is beyond painful. There is nothing to expel from his stomach, and he already emptied his bowels after waking up this morning. If he retches again, he is certain he’ll end up throwing up a lung. His abdominal area is in severe pain that his face is starting to turn green, and his stomach keeps somersaulting, he is also dizzy and doesn’t know how to pull off the flames eating his body from within.

“This is so bad.”

He remains completely still with most of his weight reclining on the sink, afraid to knock off more than a shave brush this time. One word of complaint from him and Steve will be there to offer help, or will he?

The bastard came clean about his feeling towards Bucky, the guy he raped in different positions. Steve didn’t even bat an eye talking about how caring about Bucky isn’t who he is anymore, so who’s to say his cry for help will go attended to. God, he should feel happy and free after the revelation, but this darkness twisting inside his chest and head, weaving conspiratorial plots…

He doesn’t know anymore.

He eyes his reflection in the mirror, the copious amount of sweat over his pasty complexion send him reeling down with worry and fear. He retches onto the floor, praying for relief–

“Take deep breaths, Bucky.” Steve cuts off his chain of thoughts.

Bucky groans in response.

“You need to active your parasympathetic nervous system,” his voice creeps through the slits in the door, disembodied. “You aren’t going to make yourself feel better if you worsen your anxiety.”

Whose fault is that, Bucky wonders.

“Open the door,” He suddenly orders, “I can help.”

“Scram, Rogers.” Bucky grouses. Pain stabs his abdominal section and he folds in on himself, nursing his middle with a moan.

Steve spoke after a pause, “Take deep a breath in, and then let it out.” He instructs. “Repeat the process over and over until your stomach settles down.”

Against himself, Bucky follows the instruction. After a few minutes, the pain does not subside.

“Bucky, you really need to open the door for me to examine you.” There’s plea in his voice, it’s hilarious.

“What,” Bucky snorts, his bleary eyes sinking under his lids only to refocus again. “You suddenly care?”

“I can’t ignore you if you’re hurling your guts over my bathroom sink.”

“Don’t worry, you jackass.” Bucky said on a barely stifled whimper, “Nothing’s coming out.”

“All the more reason to let me examine you,” Steve insists. “Look, severe abdominal pain is usually a sign of bad news. I know you don’t want me near you, and I don’t want to be near you either. But don’t place your health in jeopardy at a time like this, okay, especially if I can help.”

The lock clicks and the door slides open. Steve is holding the lantern in his hand, and his eyes roam the narrow room to spot Bucky. He finds him slumped on the floor with his arms wrapped around his middle, shivering and pale. He crouches down very slowly, placing the lantern gently on the floor.

“Hey,” he coaxes as though willing a cat to tap his palm, “You look pretty done in.”

“Whoa, I’m impressed you could tell all that with just a glance.” Bucky sneers, but soon grimaces as another stab of pain pierces him.

“Come on-” Steve skids closer to him, “Let’s take you out of here.”

Bucky allows the man to manhandle him back to the seat of the table. He sits him down and brings him another cup of water.

“First things first,” Steve begins, “take off your clothes. I’ll get you a new set ready.”

Bucky glowers fiercely at the man.

“You want to get better or not?” Steve finally frets.

Bucky rolls his eyes and faces elsewhere. He hears the rustling when Steve delves into the drawers of his cabinets, and then he brings the new set of clothes to Bucky.

“I won’t look.” He promises, “Just change into these, and hurry.”

Bucky doesn’t move until Steve goes back to his armchair with his eyes on the window. He starts taking the jacket off, and since it’s wet, it weighs more than it should. He takes off his t-shirt next, and when it goes past his head, he groans. By the time he reaches his belt loop, he is breathless.

Steve finally has enough. He sighs wearily and lifts off the armchair. “What’s the point of changing into dry clothes if you’re going to be this slow?”

“You said you wouldn’t look!” Bucky crouches, almond-shaped eyes widening in both embarrassment and panic.

“I did.” Steve agrees, now standing a stride-length away from the other. “But you were taking awfully long to strip.”

Bucky huffs “That sounded vaguely sexual.”

“Here,” Steve pulls Bucky by the belt loop, “I’ll lend a hand.”

He didn’t mean to. Bucky’s hand didn’t mean to smack Steve’s face. He didn’t realize what’s just transpired until the stinging in his hand doubled. He gapes at Steve’s face, a cheek redder than the other. “T-told you not to touch me,” he mutters through gritted teeth, “You had it coming.”

Steve’s eyes rise up, catching Bucky’s. “That was uncalled for.”

Bucky shudders, his pains going ignored. As he sees the cold stare in Steve’s eyes hardening, he realizes that, bit by bit, his cock is starting to react. He snatches the jacket from the backrest of the chair to cover his crotch.

“You’re troublesome.” Steve simply states, “Change into these and go to bed.”

Bucky lowers his head and Steve walks to the kitchen. He seizes the man’s distraction to take his pants off, hating how his cock springs free from its nest. Eventually, he manages to change into the set of clothes Steve prepared for him: grey sweats. He wobbles his way to the bed before sprawling on it. Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to do as the vigorous shake aggravated his stomach pain. He turns on his side and folds himself into a ball, “this is the absolute worst.”

“You’re telling me.” Steve comments. He returns with a pack of bland crackers, and more water. “I prepared some ginger ale, but it needs to heat up on the fire for a bit.”

Bucky sits up at last after a few grueling attempts, he eyes the saltine. “Thought you said you couldn’t even afford a biscuit.”

“This type of bland food won’t irritate your stomach,” Steve justifies, “now eat it, and shut up.”

Bucky eats it without another complaint.

Steve goes back to boiling the ingredients inside a small saucepan, and the scent of ginger soon wafts in the cold air. A few minutes later, he lifts it off the fire and pours the content into a cup. He returns to Bucky’s bedside, handing him the cup. “Drink all of it.”

Bucky takes the cup from him, and sips the ginger ale.

“You need to rest now.” Steve instructs, taking the now-empty cup from the other man, “sleep off the fever if you want it to break sooner.”

Bucky’s incredulous stare lingers on Steve’s.

“What?” Steve bites out.

Bucky shrugs a shoulder and sinks back into the pillow, “you’re right about the resting part,” he says on a sigh, his eyes slowly close before he murmured “I’m so tired…”

 

Steve stands by the bed, blank eyes on Bucky’s sleeping face.

 

This is the guy his former psycho self tortured and raped for months? This is the guy his heart ached for whenever the memories struck; this spoiled, overbearing and oversensitive guy?

He wants to laugh. Heck, he wants to awake Bucky so they can both crack jokes about the entire setup. This world is a big fucking joke, and he’s always believed in that. It’s probably why Pepper took advantage of it and made his twisted thoughts a reality. He tortured this guy, and ruined his youth. He knows he can’t judge his character. If there’s something fucked up, it’s on him.

He rakes a hand through the strands of his hair.

Bucky falling terribly sick at a mere memory is not a good sign. At this rate, he won’t have a chance to at least atone. When Steve goes to sleep, he sees Bucky in his dreams. It’s been four years now, but the occurrence still happens. He is always either torturing or raping Bucky in those dreams, and no matter how much he fights it, he always succumbs to that dark side. He knows that, even though he’s no longer acting under the influence of hypnosis, there is still darkness inside him. He guesses everybody does, it’s a philosophical question of the human nature; however, that is not the issue with him. Steve feels a part of him, buried inside, is always hankering for release, and always calling out to Bucky.

Now, the bastard is back to make the work of years crumble.

All Steve wanted was to be left alone. It’s true he skipped the fire four years ago, but he didn’t wish for that life anymore. He doesn’t wish to be under the spotlight again, and he certainly doesn’t wish for a repeat of those years. Bucky being here raises all risks of that happening. This bastard, coming back so readily, acting like he fucking knows what he’s getting himself into…

Bucky groans faintly in his sleep.

Because of stupid anxiety, yes, he got this bad because of fear and anxiety, and built-up stress which he didn’t know how to handle. Now, his body is reacting badly, and Steve is stuck with nursing him back to health. He shakes his head. Stepping closer to the bed, he pulls the cover higher and flings it over Bucky’s shivering body –then he hears that darkness within, fucking drawling…

_Delicious moans of pain! The image of this shivering, hopeless man, moaning beneath him, spread out and rammed into–_

Steve recoils to the back, horror seizing him. “This isn’t fucking happening.”

 

 

*******

 

 

When Bucky’s eyes flutter open, the dim light tells him it’s still night time. He grunts trying to sit up. “W-water…” But he finds nobody inside the cabin. He swivels his head in all directions, but Steve isn’t inside. “Steve?”

A wave of dizziness hits him like a sucker punch, and he grunts again. He knows it isn’t the time to be incapacitated by a damn fever if he’s by himself and defenseless. He removes the blanket off him, and swings his legs outside the bed. He immediately shivered when he soles touched the floor. He supports himself on the headboard of the bed to stand up, realizing it’s not the brightest move of his yet. The dizziness intensifies to the point of being painful. He braces himself, and steps forward towards the bathroom. He opens it, but nobody is there. His eyes catch spider-web cracks on the mirror, splattered in crimson.

“The hell happened in here?”

He walks away from the bathroom to the front door, and by the time he’s by the said door, he is panting like he’s just ended a NASCAR race on his feet. His shaky hand reaches for the door handle, but someone opens it from the outside. Bucky stills as his eyes lock with Steve’s.

“What’re you doing outside bed?” Steve berates.

“I-I woke up” Bucky mumbles with his cheeks flushing, “you weren’t there… I…” he trails off, hoping the man will be able to fill in the blank.

So he panicked.

Steve scrubs his bearded jaw, and lets out a little sigh. “Even if,” he starts, “you shouldn’t have left the bed, especially if you’re this sweaty.”

Bucky crinkles his face in distaste. “Nobody begged you to nurse me back to health, okay? I certainly didn’t!” he seethes, breathlessly.

“You’re in my place, acting sick.” Steve counters, “Of course I’m compelled to!”

“Don’t!” Bucky gripes, but the ringing in his ears goes off. He closes his eyes against the feeling, and groans.

“You’re going to pass out.” Steve pinpoints.

“You think I find this funny?” Bucky cracks his eyes open, glassy from fever and fatigue. “I wished to God you never existed, this isn’t easy for me!”

Steve stares impassively into Bucky’s bleary eyes, “I wish you died four years ago.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, and this pang in his chest drilling a hole expands more and more. Without his consent, his tears overflow like a flood. He shakes his head, and doesn’t even fight to hide his sobs anymore.

It’s mutual, what the hell did he expect, Steve getting on his knees to ask for his forgiveness?

He lived with the man, he saw how he communicates. Steve never thought of himself under anyone, he was always above all. He was a sadist who relished the sorry state of others, and relived in Bucky’s. This is no different from what the man used to be like. Changing scenery doesn’t change this man’s rotten personality.

“Cruel.” It comes out as an anguished sob before Bucky could rein it in.

Steve licks his lips, “Now go back to bed.”

Bucky runs trembling fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, and wills himself to calm his uneven breathing. “I’m leaving.” He says in a faint mutter. “I feel better now, so I’ll just scram.”

“Don’t spout nonsense.” Steve grumbles, shoulders sagging. “You’re delirious from the fever. If you don’t rest enough, you’ll pass out.”

Bucky pins the man with a hard glare. “You’re a piece of work, do you know?”

“Could say the same about you” Steve retorts.

Bucky wobbles back to the table, pecking out his clothes.

“What’re you doing?” Steve demands, “didn’t you just hear me?”

Bucky ignores him. The ringing in his ears becomes unbearable, and he tries to hold on. He clutches at the backrest of the chair, fighting the queasiness. He tries to word his discomfort, but it comes out mumbled and tired.

“I swear, you’re a fucking eyesore.” Steve rumbles before stepping right into Bucky’s personal space.

Bucky’s alarms go off, warning him about everything: his body that isn’t functioning, nor cooperating right. Steve on him again, planning to do God knows what, and, here he is, feeling miserable for himself.

Suddenly, he feels his body being lifted off the ground by marble arms. The room of logs swims in his vision, and he finds no better alternative but to close his eyes. The last thing his mind registers is the scent of earth and wood coating Steve’s body, and bit by bit, his heavy head fans backward on the nook of Steve’s arm.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

The next morning dawns, bright and cold, Bucky groans awake, gives his eyes a second to adjust, and then everything comes back to him: the storm, the pain, the cabin and Steve tending to him. God, he wants to wipe himself off the face of the earth. Steve carried him bridal style to bed, how is Bucky supposed to let himself live it down!

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after he kicked his consciousness out of the window, but he knows Steve stayed far away from his vicinity. He is actually kind of grateful for that.

He sits up, taking in the empty cabin. He catches sight of a cloth on the table and guesses that’s his breakfast underneath, tucked and covered. He trudges towards the bathroom, expecting to see the broken mirror on which Steve crafted a spider web last night, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even understand why Steve punched the damn thing; if he was against Bucky hogging the bed, he should have said so. Not that Bucky would have given it to him anyways. This actually makes him dredge up the kind of monologue going though Steve’s mind, or have been ever since Bucky popped up on him near the river bank.

For him, he hasn’t stopped thinking about Steve ever since their reunion. Even now, God damn, all he thinks about is Steve. And he’s expected to get his things and scram? There’s no chance in hell he would. He is here and he might as well rebuild himself using the pile of trauma and nightmare source going as far as staying outside the cabin to ignore him.

 

There’s a note on the table that reads (don’t come back). Bucky lifts it up, scrutinizes it and then crunches it into a ball.

He will come back.

 

 

 

 

Or so he said, and that was two weeks ago.

Ever since he came back from the cabin and the woods and the nightmares, Bucky wasn’t able to step foot into all of that again. He admits going to the entry way of the woods a few times, but never having enough balls to actually venture inside. He doesn’t blame his nightmares, or Steve, for that matter, which is hilarious, because he should. Steve made him relive the nightmares, and that eventually caused him unbelievable physical pain. It’d have been certifiable if fear was the thing holding him back, but no. His body and mind work differently than that and that’s something he’s come to realize, unfortunately, a bit late.

Soon after getting back to his apartment, two days later maybe, his nightmares started to manifest into something he’d long since thought was over. Those nights he’d spent moaning with his mind filled with thoughts of Steve’s face and hands… they were back on full force, dragging him down to this big swamp of self-loathing and disgust.

He guesses meeting Steve again after all those years reignited what he’d spent most of his time trying to suppress. Now, as he sits on his desk chair, spinning from side to side and facing the window, appalling ideas start to wiggle into his mind. He doesn’t know what to do, and quitting his job sounds like a wise decision. He should. He also should move out, go far away from those eerie-looking woods.

The part of him that wants to fight votes against that, reasoning that Steve is the source of his traumas, and so if he wants to grow out of them he’d better face Steve again. However, the wise side of him vouches for a way out, somewhere distant from what’s causing Bucky physical pain.

 

6 P.M Friday finds him pacing by the cabin’s front door.

“What am I doing?” Bucky berates, “What the hell am I doing?”

A twig snaps in the background and Bucky whips around, eyes wide and wary. He finds Steve in same clothes from two weeks ago, standing in the clearing with a bundle of fish in a hand. Bucky’s entire body goes numb, and his mind becomes completely blank. Steve’s eyes remain on Bucky’s, hard and vague, and then he lets out a full-bodied sigh. He steps forward, climbs up the few stairs and whooshes past Bucky. And to the latter’s surprise, Steve leaves the front door open.

Bucky swallows his hesitation and walks into the cabin.

As he stands by the door, he takes in the same furniture poised in the same position from before. He also watches how Steve places the fish on the counter to take off his coat. Bucky kicks off his shoes and steps inside, aiming for the chair by the table.

Again, the rest of the evening is spent in silence with Steve grilling the fish inside the fireplace. Bucky has sat on the armchair and pecked out a book from the pile,  _Touching the Void_ , and read up to four pages when he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Do you even have any friends?”

“It’s true that I allowed you in, but that doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate your chatter.” Steve said from his crouch by the fireplace.

“So what, are you just going to pretend I’m not here for the rest of the night?” Bucky marvels.

“Are you staying here for the rest of the night?” Steve asks, and there’s a hint of a groan in his voice.

“You want me to walk back these woods when it’s gotten this dark?” Bucky exclaims, “I know you’re heartless, but try to be a little more sensitive, okay?”

“Then why can’t you?” Steve retorts.

Bucky arches up a brow at the man, a cue for him to explain.

“You’re back when I clearly told you to stay away,” he huffs, “I told you I didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore, but here you are again, deliberately strolling within my territory.”

“Your territory,” Bucky scoffs, “last I checked, these woods weren’t yours.”

“But the cabin is.” Steve fires back, “and you’re harassing me.”

Bucky clicks his tongue and makes half a smirk, “You’re such a poor little thing, having this evil creature invade your privacy.” He said, his tone gushing with sarcasm. “Are you scared I’ll awaken your memories of being a psycho?”

Steve almost snarls, “You don’t want to go there.”

“You’re wrong. I do want to go there.” Bucky confirms, “But it’s unwise if it’s just me and you, isolated. There’s no telling of what you might do to me if your emotions are rattled.”

Steve then straightens up to full height.

Instead of fear, all Bucky feels is utter excitement.

“That’s right,” Steve’s lips pull into a cold smirk, “we’re isolated from everyone.”

A shudder runs through Bucky’s body and he stills all motions, he doesn’t even know if he’s breathing anymore. When Steve suddenly faces the fireplace, Bucky feels neglected. He watches attentively how the blond man takes the fish skewers to lay them out on the table, and that’s when he feels it: Him losing command over his own body.

He puts the book aside and stands up, his trembling hands fumble with the upper buttons of his flannel. He manages to unbutton it at last, and then he takes it off. At the sudden rustle, Steve reels around to understand what’s happening, only to find Bucky stripping off of his clothes. Bucky’s eyes don’t fail to pick up on the dismay slowly taking over Steve’s expression, but he doesn’t stop. He removes his t-shirt next, and trembles as cold air envelopes his upper body.

“What’s this?” Steve demands.

Bucky gropes the belt buckle, willing his shivering fingers to undo it.

“Stop,” Steve grits out, his body growing evidently taut. “What the hell is this?”

Bucky closes his eyes to the accusation in Steve’s voice, and finally manages to get his jeans down to his ankles. He kicks them off at last, and then he stands by the armchair, naked from head to toe. He balls his fists at his sides and sighs.

“After you, I tried dating” he starts, “never worked out.”

Steve remains silent and motionless.

“I knew my body couldn’t respond to anyone but you,” Bucky admits on a sad-stricken, self-derogatory smile. “After all, you’re the one who trained me.”

Steve lowers his head, but eyes remain wide and trembling. “Put your clothes back on.”

“I won’t.” Bucky insists, “You caused this, now fix it.”

“I can’t.” Steve says, dejectedly.

“Why not” Bucky is still adamant, almond-shaped blue eyes bugging out, “You used to take whatever you wanted, and you never asked how I felt about it. I never had a chance to complain. You made me like this, Steve. You owe me!” He is shouting by the last word.

The fire crackles, interrupting the post silence.

“A broken toy can’t delight a child, Buck.” Steve simply says before slumping down on a chair.

Bucky’s nostrils flare, “Stop speaking in codes, you asshole.”

“I’m saying I can’t help with that.” Steve drops his face in his palm, “I don’t desire you in that way.”

Bucky feels as though he’s just been winded in the guts. “You don’t desire me?” He snorts, “Are you nuts! You spent months raping me in every position you’d think of!”

“That wasn’t me.” Steve explains, “The things the ‘me’ back then felt towards you dissipated years ago, okay? You think I’ll get hard seeing you naked?”

“I don’t care,” Bucky seethes, “You ruined every chance I’d have at normal, now take responsibility.”

This is absolutely great. The man who used to make up excuses to get into his pants is now so fixedly trying to not even look at his naked body. And Bucky is supposed to stand there and take it, what, didn’t the bastard hear what he’s just said.

The hand that was palming Steve’s face slips to the table, he balls it and then slams it on the wood. Bucky in the side flinches so hard and readies to step rearward, just in case. Steve slowly lifts his face; the glint of dark, malevolent eyes shakes Bucky to the core. He lifts up unhurriedly, as though stalling on purpose to give Bucky a chance to reconsider.

To show him how uninterested he is, Bucky sits on the bed, turns on his side and folds his left knee.

_**Touch my mouth and hold my tongue** _ **  
_I'll never be your chosen one_**

Steve, then, saunters towards him with his heavy soles stomping on the plank. And Bucky closes his eyes. He doesn’t reopen them until Steve is standing by the bed, tall and silent.

_**I'll be home safely tucked away** _ **  
_Well, You can't tempt me if I don't see the day_**

Aside from his unsteady breaths, Bucky hears the fire crackling and the trees rustling in a soothing rhythm. He feels the light touch of air currents on his skin, raising the hair on it. Steve’s fingers land on the scarred name on his back, icy like snowflakes. Bucky hisses at the mere contact and Steve immediately lifts his hand off.

“It’s…” Bucky sighs, “You surprised me, s all.”

Steve rubs his hands against his own thighs for a moment, and then he brings the same hand again to Bucky’s scars. This time, the man doesn’t hiss. He takes that as his cue to go further.

Bucky clutches at the bed sheets as Steve glides that hand down to fondle his ass. “None of that,” he grits out, “I’m not here to cuddle.”

Steve stills his motions for a beat, and then scoffs. Bucky doesn’t even dare to ask the reason for it.

Steve thumps the puckered entrance, and although it keeps twitching: an indication of how much nervous Bucky is, he keeps nudging his finger against it.

He doesn’t stop until three fingers fit and Bucky is a huffing mess beneath him.

“You’re ready,” he notes out, “but I’m not.”

Bucky perks up at that on his elbows, and he looks over his shoulder at Steve’s half erection. “I’m not sucking off that thing.”

“How do you suggest I penetrate you otherwise?”

Bucky shakes his head and fans back on his arms. “I’m never gonna blow you again.” Not after Steve used to beat him into it.

Steve behind him remains silent, and the rustling of his clothes suggests that he’s unzipping his pants. He crawls over the bed, his scent and warmth enveloping Bucky wholly. He grinds against Bucky’s ass and the latter feels the half hard-on poking him. He braces himself for it. Steve’s cock slowly grows in size, excited to rub on different flesh.

The pre-cum oozing out of Steve’s cock, and which the man is rubbing all over Bucky’s rim, results in wet noises. He didn’t allow this, but having Steve tease his prostate and not penetrate would be cruel to his body. Steve finally stops, and then lines the head of his cock to Bucky’s hole.

Here it comes; Steve’s cock…

He is taking his first step into a pit of absolute darkness, and no words are being exchanged.

Bucky stares at the wall, still blowing out little huffs and sighs, and he keeps his knee folded so that Steve has enough space. Steve pushes in very slowly, and Bucky feels his entrance widening at the intrusion. Steve’s dick is inside him, again, after four years. Bucky opens his mouth and lets a deep groan loose. As Steve bottoms out, Bucky sags on the sheets, breathless.

He never forgot this feeling. Not even once.

He knows it’s wrong, and his deceased friends deserve better. Bucky, however, could never stop his other half from hankering for this. Steve’s cock touching his insides, it simply fits. He clasps his hands on the pillow and pulls it under the side of his head, so that if he moaned, he’d mask the sounds.

Without a forewarning, Steve snaps his hips. Bucky yowls in a sweet keen, but quickly buries his mouth in the pillow to stifle the moans that soon follow. Steve braces his arms at either side of Bucky’s middle, and pants atop him.

Bucky folds his knee to his chest, welcoming the pressure more as Steve performs strong piston thrusts against his prostate, rocking his entire body and making the bed creak noisily, eventually making him sob his moans.

_**The pull on my flesh was just too strong** _ **  
_Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs_**

Steve’s dick is making him moan, and other than the crackling of the fire this time, all he hears is the wet slapping of skin on skin as Steve thrusts into him, and the latter is panting. Bucky flings his arm to the back, probing Steve’s side and finally presses at his ass-cheek, “faster…” he sobs brokenly, “Cumming…”

 

So rough, so strong and deep and Bucky is going out of his freaking mind. His eyes roll under his lids as he sends his cum over the sheets. The tightening of his muscles forces Steve’s cum out as well. He fans down on Bucky panting shallowly.

“Get off.” Bucky barks.

Steve lifts off just as quickly, he sits up and slowly slides his cock out.

“I didn’t say you can pull out.” Bucky bites out, “we’re far from done.”

Steve stares blankly at him.

Bucky shifts a little to lie flat on his stomach. He spreads his legs with his cock nestled between his thighs and peaking from under his ass cheeks.

“But this position…” Steve trails off.

“What, you used to find satisfaction in my pain, you bastard.” Bucky huffs, “don’t act like you care now.”

Yes, having Steve thrust inside him in this position is going to be painful, but accompanying pain, there’s pleasure. So while Bucky bears with the pain, he gets to feel utter pleasure as well.

_**Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie** _ **  
_'Cause when I opened my body I breathe in a lie_**

Steve then penetrates Bucky again, his knees on either side of the man’s hips. When he thrusts fast into him, it’s wanton, instinct-driven movements, like a damn dog in a rut.

 

Steve lingers knelt on the bed, just watching how his cum trickles down from Bucky’s ass hole and down to the bed cover, adding to the pool of cum Bucky himself created. Bucky passed out soon after Steve ejaculated in him so much it’d impregnate any other woman, so he savors up this private moment to behold Bucky for his entire splendor.

He smirks…

His name is still scarred on Bucky’s back, engraved on it like the man is his fucking property. This is absolutely great. He fucked Bucky senseless again, and he didn’t have to force the man into anything. The guy invited him to do this with his own free will, and Steve even gave him a few moments’ leeway to change his mind. He fucked him so deep like Bucky was his Onahole, and he didn’t even care if Bucky screamed in pain, he fucking wanted this.

 _ **I will not speak of your sins**_  
_**There was a way out for him**_ ** _  
_the mirror shows not__**

Having Bucky sprawled beneath him, vulnerable and sexed-out, is absolutely the best.

_**Your values are all shot** _ **  
_But oh my heart, was flawed I knew my weakness_**

He suddenly frowns.

What in the world is he thinking...? Isn’t it enough that Bucky passed out? What else does Bucky have to go through for Steve to understand how messed up their situation is. Bucky demanded this, so maybe that’s his version of torture. This is the part of that hell he wanted Steve to relive. This could be troublesome, and in equal part catastrophic.

In any case, he is certain that, after tonight, Bucky won’t come back.

_**So hold my hand consign me not to darkness...** _

 

 

*******

 

 

 

It’s like time stops here at midnight so that yesterday recurs. Bucky wakes up, only for his eyes to catch the logs forming the ceiling. He listens as birds chirp with their wings fluttering on the window sill. He listens at the rustle of trees, peaceful and calming.

Steve is, again, nowhere to be seen.

Bucky sits up and the cover falls off his chest, revealing the warm skin that quivers under the assaulting morning cold. He pulls the cover from the hem up to his neck, and scowls. The front door creaks open, and as Bucky turns to scowl at it, Steve marches in, a plastic bag in his hand. He grinds to a halt after closing the door when he sees that Bucky is awake and still in bed. Bucky’s bearings give way under the penetrating gaze, and soon he finds his cheeks getting hotter. A flash of the previous night’s happenings on this same very bed appear so he lifts the hem of the cover up to his nose. Steve looks away and down at his boots, he kicks them off and walks in. Bucky, nested under the cover, watches how Steve places the bag gently on the counter and starts taking off his coat.

“Go wash up.” He suddenly instructed, now closing the window which Bucky thought has been closed till now. No wonder he heard the birds.

Bucky crinkles his nose at the idea. He is not leaving this warm nest to go wash his face with freezing water. “I’m good.”

Steve looks over his shoulder, blankly.

“What?” Bucky hisses, “I’m not washing my face with Hoth water, I’d freeze to death!”

Steve rolls his eyes and carries on to the ‘kitchen’ area.

Bucky returns his mouth under the cover and shivers.

Yesterday, he stripped and offered his body to Steve without a moment’s thought, and it’s scary: he should be furious at himself and at his horrible decisions, but he isn’t. Last night’s sex was very satisfying –the most satisfied he’s felt in years. He is a little bit, though, remorseful when he thinks about his dead friends and his best friend, who suffered just as much, this guilt starts to nag at him.

“Put this on,” Steve interrupts his thoughts, “we don’t want you freezing to death, now, do we?”

Bucky looks up and a piece of clothing smacks him square on the face, he swipes at it and finds that it is a maroon hoodie. He quickly dons it and returns his arms and shoulders under the cover. “What’s for breakfast,” he demands, “fish and rice again?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Steve simply says.

“You’re slowly turning into one of those dudes who live up to forty years of complete isolation,” Bucky said, and tacks on “starting to sound like one, too.”

Steve opens the bag, and all Bucky gets for his remark is the scratching noise of the bag being parted. As Bucky nudges the pillow against the headboard to lean on it, Steve comes up to him with a small dish. Bucky inspects the triangle piece of apple pie on it, and then returns his gaze on Steve’s.

“It’s not gonna eat you.” Steve reminds.

Bucky huffs and takes the plate from him, and then takes the fork as well. Steve returns to the table and drops down on the chair, his plate cluttering on the table.

“Where did you get this?”

“I have my own pie-farting unicorn in the backyard.”

Silence prevails for a beat, and then Bucky snorts. 

 “Smartass” He shakes his head and stabs the fork into his piece of pie.

“An old lady downtown prepares it for me,” He starts, “She puts it on the ridge of her window every Saturday morning.”

Bucky’s lips have parted open at some point, and he quickly presses them together when he comes to a realization. “Wow,” he marvels, “you must be like the mysterious tooth fairy then,” he jokes, “Instead of teeth, she gives you pie.”

Steve eats in complete silence again.

“She must be a nice person to do that for you.” Bucky added.

“Everything’s been steered into one direction,” Steve suddenly speaks, eyes on his piece of pie, and for a moment, Bucky thinks the man is talking about the pie. “People stopped doing things for themselves; they do it to get praise instead. Living up to everyone’s expectations is very tiring, and not to mention moronic.”

“What’s wrong with a little praise?” Bucky defends, “not all people aspire for that, but we don’t have the right to condemn those who need it.”

“After sketching your family poster, maybe,” Steve scoffs, and adds “you die alone.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, forehead scowling. “Just what exactly are you trying to get at?”

“That people reach full maturity at age twenty five,” He reasons, which makes Bucky cock his head in more confusion. “Praise or not, as long as you’re breathing, you don’t need anyone’s recognition for your achievement.”

Bucky, for the five seconds he allowed the silence to prevail, he wills his mind to look for what instigated this. He told Steve that the person who gives him pie must be nice, and that and this are irrelevant. Bucky has no idea what kind of monologue is going on inside Steve’s head –wait… “Are you trying to say that you’re thankful to the lady who prepares the pie for you?”

Steve’s upper lip and brows flinch. He quickly resumes eating again, frowning in feign concentration.

Bucky cups his lips to keep them from stretching into a smile. 

This is what a grateful Steve looks like...?

After another beat of silence, Bucky places the dish on the bedside drawer, resignation taking over. “Listen, once a week, I’ll come to your cabin and leave on the same day.”

Steve holds off all motions, and then only his eyes lift up.

“I have Saturdays free, and you don’t exactly run a business here.” He says, “You give me what I want on a Saturday, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the week.”

“Isn’t that what you’re already doing?” Steve tilts his head a bit perplexed.

“Yeah, except if you agree to the deal, I’ll leave in the same day.”

Steve mumbles a “would be fine if you leave forever” before biting a portion of his pie.

“No more staying over, and no more hogging the bed because you obviously seem to have a problem with that.” Bucky goes for lighthearted but his humor is met with silence again, “Or I can just return here whenever I want.”

Steve dumps the last bit of the pie into his mouth and lifts up. He lays the dish on the counter again, picks his coat from the fastener and slips it on. “Don’t come after dusk.” He says over his shoulder and heads to the front door again.

Bucky’s brows fly up under his fringe, and as he watches Steve slipping into his boots, a smirk invades his small lips.

 

*******

 

The next Saturday rolled in quickly.

Bucky buys some snacks, and in his pace outside the grocery store, contemplating whether this is a good idea or not, his legs end up carrying him to the nearest pharmacist. He shamefully hides his purchased items in the chest pocket of his jacket and trudges towards the woods.

He’s overturned this in his head countless of times the past few days. He even sought professional help online but eventually chickened out when the questions got too deep and personal. He doesn’t even know why he’s walking towards the cabin, but he knows Steve is in there, and something in him is fucking drawn to the man and the past that connects them together. Steve can try and deny this all he wants, but when it’s all said and done, his memory of Bucky is the only thing he’d never be able to erase, and no amount of hypnosis this time can alter the fact, change it or erase it.

The cabin starts to come into view, and with every step closer, Bucky’s heart pounds faster and faster. He sees the smoke that seeps out of the chimney and immediately knows Steve is inside. He walks up to the door, knocks once and pushes the door open. He peeks from the slightly opened door and finds Steve on the armchair, wearing a crew neck pullover and bleached jeans, relaxing and reading a book.

He clears his throat and steps closer to the table. He rests the bag of snacks on the table to take off his jacket. “Brought some snacks, supposing you didn’t have dinner yet.”

Steve closes the book, flings it over the pile of other dusty books and stands up. Bucky arches a brow, attentively watching the change in endeavor that heralds something, it’s not anything good.

“Alright,” Steve looks at him, “I don’t have the entire afternoon, get on the bed.”

Bucky frowns.

“Like I said,” he grits out, “let’s get it over with.”

Bucky’s frown morphs into… nothing. He hangs the jacket on the backrest of the chair and starts unbuckling his belt. Steve, in front of him, crosses his arms over his broad chest and flares his nose. Bucky reads the annoyance in Steve’s gestures, and quickens his movements. Like all the times Steve hated to be kept waiting. He finally takes his pants off, but keeps his Henley on. He traipses to the bed and sits on it. Steve uncrosses his arms and also steps to the bed. He watches how Bucky spins around and crawls on four, and then remains in that position.

Steve grumbles for some reason, and Bucky has a good idea or two why. He isn’t going to give oral, and Steve needs to wrap his head around it. If he wants to get hard, he can just do same thing he did last time. It worked, it will again.

Steve kneels on two behind him and unzips his jeans to allow his cock out. He holds Bucky by either side of his hips and starts rubbing his cock against the man’s rim, very, very slowly. Bucky closes his eyes, savoring up the unbelievable feeling. His tongue snakes out, licking his upper lips before he bites on the bottom one. Steve uses his thumbs to part Bucky’s ass cheeks, and he bumps the head of his cock against the now precum-slicked hole. Bucky lets out contented sighs, and unbeknownst to him, he starts rolling his ass.

No words make their way out of their mouths, only shallow breaths.

Steve stops rubbing against Bucky’s rim when his cock grows in size. He doesn’t even wait to consent Bucky as he thrusts into him all the way in. Bucky almost falters. He cries and keeps his narrowed eyes on the wall.

“Bastard” He berates, “how about a little warning before you ram your thing in, you didn’t even prep me.”

“Oh, my bad” Steve muses, “Didn’t think I was supposed to do that for you as well.”

“Take it out,” he suddenly demands, “I don’t want to feel pain from this.”

“Like I said,” Steve breathes out, “I don’t have time.”

“You running a lemonade stand, you piece of shit?” He chides, “Take it out before you tear me.”

“Alright,” Steve acquiesces, but doesn’t take his cock out. “But I’m not putting it back in.”

Bucky balls the cover in his fists and flares his nostrils. “Take it out.”

Steve pulls out with such a force that sends Bucky fanning down on the bed. He tucks his cock under his boxers, and lifts up to zip his fly.

“Wait,” Bucky groans, “I bought lube. You don’t have to do anything, but give me a minute.”

Steve eyes the defiant look in Bucky’s and can’t help but smirk. “Fine, but make it quick.”

Bucky swings his legs outside the bed and rushes to his jacket, and then he takes out the lube and bolts to the bathroom. Steve sits on the bed, twines his fingers and props his chin on them. He gives it exactly two minutes before he lifts up. He heads to the bathroom and plasters his mouth closer to the door.

“I’m leaving.”

“I’m almost done,” Bucky reports, “you can’t just leave.”

“Close the door before you go back.”

The door to the bathroom is suddenly yanked open, and Bucky shows up, breathless, cheeks coated in pink and brown hair disheveled. Steve observes him silently.

“I’m done.”

Steve shakes his head, “next time” he said, “I need to go now.”

“Not fair,” Bucky bellows, “We had a deal, Steve. You can’t just back away.”

Steve crunches his face like he’s heard the reiteration of the accusation countless times, now he just can’t bring himself to care. “I get it,” he huffs, “you want to come, right? Turn around.”

Bucky flings him that incredulous look, and slowly swivels around. Steve presses up against him and he gasps at the suddenness of Steve’s movement. He feels the man pushing him inside the bathroom, and he allows it because he is promised an orgasm.

Steve glides a hand down to Bucky’s erect cock and fists it, making the man yelp in surprise again. He starts rubbing it off, long strokes on Bucky’s shaft that make the latter groan. He alternates to using both hands; one caresses the head and the other the shaft of the cock.

Bucky’s knees weaken and he slips to the floor, bringing Steve with him who decided not to haul him up. Steve leans back against the wall and helps Bucky lean back on his chest.

Bucky curls his toes and clutches at Steve’s knees. The feeling of two skillful hands doing their thing on his cock is mind-blowing, and he wants to drown in the sensation. He lets out continuous small moans and sighs. He parts his eyes open when he feels Steve’s cock hard and poking his lower back. He hurls forwards and drops on his knees and hands, and he is a little glad that Steve didn’t take his hands off.

“You’re hard,” he notes out. “You’re rock hard!”

Steve fans on Bucky’s back and groans. “Be quiet.”

Bucky shifts to brace himself on his forearms, his ass still in the air, pressing against Steve’s hard-on. He loses himself in the way Steve is jerking him off and the way he is humping his ass. It doesn’t last, though. Steve is soon letting go of Bucky’s cock and kneeling properly on two. Bucky beneath him makes a strange strangled noise, like he’s just been denied orgasm, Steve muses. He unzips his fly again and takes his cock out, and it’s like Bucky said, it’s rock-hard. He nudges it against Bucky’s ass hole, and he fucking hears Bucky gulp in anticipation. He pushes all the way in again, grunting at the tightness and the heat welcoming him.

Bucky mewls whorishly as his cum pours to the floor.

“From mere penetration…” Steve marvels.

Bucky gives himself a moment, just lying there, willing the chill in his spine to go away already.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t have time for that. He braces his hands one at each side of Bucky’s head, and then he moves. Bucky remains on his forearms, teeth nibbling at the back of his hand, with his ass in the air for Steve to pound and fuck. His mind and body slowly sink under the tidings of pleasure Steve sends with every reckless thrust of his hips.

 

 

Bucky sagged to the floor again after Steve ejaculated inside of him. When he plopped his middle on the floor, the action caused all the semen Steve pumped inside him to spill out.

Steve cleans himself at the sink and retreats from the confined room. He fetches his coat and finally exits the cabin.

Bucky blinks sporadically at the moldered walls, his fingers twitch when cold currents of air catch him, courtesy of Steve lacking the good grace to close the door after leaving. He remains there on the floor, just hating and feeling disgusted with himself…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Mumford and Sons : Broken Crown


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late update. I hope you accept this gift, a small gesture to redeem myself :">

 

 

The next Saturday was quick to arrive, too.

Bucky follows his usual routine, but this time, he actually preps himself because he knows Steve isn’t going to do it for him. If he didn’t stop the bastard the other night, he’d have seriously given him an anal fissure. He still remembers how those used to hurt back during his captivity.

Instead of just snacks, Bucky purchases a tent heater and a throw. And instead of a bit late, he goes to Steve’s cabin a little earlier than usual. Last time, he returned home late. He’s already been hearing about people getting attacked by boars; he doesn’t want to be the next victim.

The sky today is clear, but despite the sun, it’s still chilly. As Bucky walks up the street, he feels the tip of his nose getting stabbed by unremitting cold breeze. He enters the woods at last. Between last Saturday and this, he’s berated himself in hopes to give up whatever this he’s started but to no avail. He just can’t seem to bring himself to anything beside trudge in these woods. He doesn’t understand it either, and he was saying the truth when he first prepositioned this to Steve. After four years, Bucky wanted to try going out again. He went out with Peter Parker, the British dude who worked part-times at a bakery. They kissed a few times, nothing more than a peck. It’s just he doesn’t find people interesting anymore, not as he used to anyway. Heck, he used to profile people because it was fun, and girls used to find that quite sexy about him. He nixed all of that after his return home from all that hell.

He is certain now that his body can’t and won’t react to anyone if it’s not Steve.

Being trained for over four months did something to his body, made it crave the touch of hands that no longer want to get dirty touching him, and it’s entertaining: watching himself fall into the depths of degradation.

The cabin’s chimney isn’t coughing any soot, and Bucky stops in his track. He hears the thwack of wood being chopped by something metallic. Fleet-footedly, he brisked up his pace, and finally shows up at the clearing of the cabin. He finds Steve, shirtless, axing a log. Bucky stands rooted to his spot, watching Steve being himself for he hasn’t caught up on the new presence yet. He is wearing the bleached jeans and the boots, flannel tied around his waist. He lifts the heavy axe and swipes at the middle of the log, his sweat-soaked fringe flutters with every jerk of his muscles.

A balmy breeze moves Bucky’s hair, and Steve is soon paying attention to him.

Bucky looks away, steps forward and towards the cabin. “Keep the shirt off.” He throws over his shoulder.

Inside, he places the bags on the floor and goes in farther to stand by the table. He hears the door creak open, and he doesn’t wait. He starts working on the button of his pants.

Steve saunters his way. Bucky slides his pants to his ankles, and the other man unzips his fly.

“Do I have to wait again?” He demands to know.

Bucky shakes his head, turns around and leans on the table. “It’s taken care of.” He assures, “do your part of the bargain now.”

Steve gives his cock a few strokes with a hand, and the other nudges at the puckered entrance. It’s wet and a little red and puffy which asserts Bucky’s statement. Bucky claps his hands at the edge of the table until color leaves his knuckles. Steve stops his ministrations seeing that his cock is hard and ready, and he dives into the tightness and heat again, groaning his approval.

Bucky bites his bottom lip to keep from making any noises, but he finds that’s almost impossible because Steve’s dick wreaks havoc, that’s what it does. He keens and forces his eyes shut.

Steve has hoped the other would come from being penetrated like last time so he’d wrap things up quickly, but Bucky is holding on. Steve thrusts in him again and again, making the table’s four posts squeak under the brunt until Bucky can’t take it and comes all over the pallets. He fans on them with his heaving chest, and brings the back of his hand to his lips, absentmindedly nibbling at it.

Steve pulls until only the head of his cock is buried in, and he waits.

Bucky props up on his hands now, almost standing askew, and buckles against Steve cock, taking it all back in. He repeats it when Steve groans. Again and again, until Steve can’t stifle his groans and sighs anymore. Bucky stands up and rests his weight on Steve’s, his head on the man’s broad shoulder.

Steve can’t believe how resilient this ass hole is, taking all of him in and swallowing him whole. He hooks an arm around Bucky’s middle to press him closer, and the other to the cock crying for attention.

“It’s… sensitive.” Bucky moans hotly, “it’ll hurt if you touch it.”

“It looks pretty happy in my hand.” Steve drones inside Bucky’s ear, and he senses the way the man trembles and then there’s warm fluid coating his hand. He scoffs, “You came again.”

Bucky’s head lolls on Steve’s shoulder and his pupils sink under his lids. “Shocker.” He hacked, now smirking.

Steve frowns and hugs both his arms around Bucky very securely. He bends a little, and then he snaps his hips in a speed that catches Bucky off-guard.

“Bastard…!” Bucky hollers and clasps at Steve’s arm with a hand, and the other goes to the smooth golden hair. “God… feels great!” He clutches at the strands and grits his teeth together.

Steve’s frown deepens as he continues to groan into Bucky’s ear, the side of his forehead pressing up against the warm cheek.

Bucky feels his mind melting, and nothing in him works except pleasure receptors. “Fuck me harder…” he moans wantonly, “fuck, it feels so good.”

Steve closes his eyes and speeds his thrusts, the deep sound of skin hitting skin echoes in the small cabin until Steve shoots burning come inside Bucky. The latter drops on the table heavily, while Steve takes his cock out from where he just fucked Bucky. He watches how trails of semen gush out of the now-puffy hole and spill down Bucky’s sack and thighs every time it twitches.

Bucky hears a door open and close and assumes that Steve has just locked himself in the bathroom. He reminds himself of the deal, so instead of lingering there for who knows how long, He painstakingly puts his pants back on, his shoes too, and then leaves.

 

**~~~~**

 

Bucky’s been trying to fit forty-hour workweek into sixteen hours. Saturday was looming in, closer and closer with each passing minute. He hated the rush that usually proceeded Christmas holiday. There was absolutely no excitement or looking forward for the week off because he vouches for more, one week isn’t going to cut it for him.

Taking a fervent glance at his watch, he noticed how late it’s gotten. He collects the rest of the reports that are due tomorrow and heads out, flinging a ‘good night’ to the janitor outside the school gate. He walks back home, prepares dinner after changing and all, and then resumes working on the reports.

He wakes up the next morning groggy and achy. He realizes he nodded off at some point last night and spent what was left of the night sleeping on the couch. The only good thing he managed to achieve from his impromptu doze is the fact that all the reports have been worked on, now ready to be submitted in. He checks his phone for any missed calls or unread texts, and finds a short text from his father asking him about his plans for the 25th of this month. He sends back a short text as well, letting his father know that he hasn’t decided on anything yet.

For breakfast, he gulps down some juice from the half empty cartoon that’s going to go bad in another two days, and then he gets dressed again. He brings the papers he’s expected to hand in together and heads out.

Inside the teachers’ room, he finds the music teacher by her desk, shuffling through a log of some sort. He greets her and she immediately shied when their eyes met. Bucky places the files on the vice-principal’s desk, and then he waves bye to the teacher again before finally exiting the room.

As he walks back towards the apartment building, biting cold currents of air pierce his face. His eyes catch the apparition of high mountains behind thick layers of fog that is surrounding the little town like satin sheets. He notes it in his head to watch the weather forecasting later before heading to Steve’s. He predicts a vortex of snow that might reach this town by the beginning of next week, and he doesn’t have to levitate down from the heavens with holy music in the background to tell that much. He is just upset that he has to be here when it’ll snow, he absolutely can’t stand it. And just to be sure, he opens the calendar on his phone screen, and it starts to dawn on him why his father wanted to know about his plans. The 25th is going to meet the weekend, so instead of just one week off, he is going to be lucky to have two.

This warrants other plans than spending Christmas night cooped up inside that rundown sardine can of an apartment. He can take his motorbike back home and spend the holidays with his family, and he won’t have to worry about food or school for two freaking weeks. If he goes home, he’ll bathe in congenial company, and gorge down home-made meals.

At the same time, though, he finds himself unable to hope for any of that when he thinks of how Steve is in the cabin, by himself.

The man’s been living there by himself for years, and it should be taken for granted. Bucky knows Steve chose the isolation on purpose, and he is even content that the world thinks he died in the fire four years ago. Bucky wants to cut the man some slack, but the way his mind operates makes him wonder if it’ll be a good thing to leave here for two weeks. He knows that, between each Saturday, Steve passes the days alone.

But it’s just so lonely.

 

Around three in the afternoon, the ache Bucky felt this morning after waking up has intensified, accompanied by a fever. He guessed passing out on the sofa, uncovered, brought on the gift. Now as he sits there at the restaurant’s booth by the window, unfinished meal on his table, he starts to debate whether he can go to Steve’s cabin or not. He is aware that more exertion will only spike the fever up, and trudging inside the woods is exertion enough. Yet, this part of him, the part he’s always fought to quench, rebels against the idea. The deal was Saturdays only, so he doesn’t know how Steve would react if he dropped by on a Wednesday. The man is fucking unpredictable. What’s more, Bucky can’t get what’s going on through the man’s head whenever Bucky drops his pants and parts his legs.

Steve gets hard, despite everything he said the first time Bucky undressed in front of him. His cock shouldn’t get erect if he really didn’t desire Bucky the way he used to four years ago. As thought, Steve’s high and mighty talk crumbles to the floor when he is fucking Bucky’s ass.

Bucky doesn’t know if it’s the fever or these thoughts that rid of his appetite, he bets on the latter.

 

**~~~~**

 

By the time he walks out, rain-charged clouds have already conquered the town. He adjusts the collar of his jacket and jogs to a nearby thrift shop. He purchases a hooded flannel and two jeans, and he also buys an insulated jacket. Next, he heads to a grocery store and buys anything edible. He also doesn’t forget to buy condoms. Steve always ejaculates inside of him and it causes him uncomfortable stomachaches afterward. After exiting the door of the shop, he seriously considers riding his bike. He’s already carrying a lot of bags, and with the rain falling nonstop like this, everything he’s purchased might ruin. He takes another look at his clock to see if he can make it. It’s half past four, Steve has expressly said to come before dusk. No, not really; he didn’t. Still, for Steve to talk, that’s something. He forgets about using his vehicle today, and instead, rushes to the woods on his legs.

 

Bucky bursts through the door of the cabin like he was pushed inside by someone. He swivels around to shut it, lock it in the face of the unrelenting storm. The crackling of fire greets him, along with a familiar silence. He reels around again, hoping to spot Steve on the armchair. He does.

Bucky’s been to hell and back. He survived a car crush, he survived epilepsy and he even survived months of torture. He bounced back from all of that –anyone else wouldn’t. But he did. Now he is suddenly taken aback by the flutter of his heart when his eyes meet Steve’s. He finds him on the armchair by the fireplace, a book in hand.

Bucky feels his heart flutter.

He doesn’t know if it’s the fever acting up, or what. He knows his heart always fluttered whenever Steve was spotted by his eyes or heard by his ears, and even his stomach used to churn. However, this kind of flutters is different. Oh God, too different.

Steve’s unfathomable face contorts as if he’s just been told dogs can fly. He closes the book and flings it to the pile. He stands up at the same time Bucky kicks off his boots, and goes to the nightstand to take out a short towel, and then the two of them walk towards each other and stop by the table.

“Dry your hair first.” Steve tosses the towel to Bucky and it lands on his chest.

Bucky lets the bags drop by his legs to clutch a hand at the towel. He feels droplets of water slide down his face to accumulate under the tip of his jaw. He quickly drops the towel on his head, and starts ruffling.

Steve snorts and the other looks up. “It’s just” he starts, “you take this deal too seriously.”

“There’s only one Saturday in a week.” Bucky justifies.

“Even if,” Steve crosses his arms over his broad chest, shrug deceptively good-natured. “It’s not ‘fuck or die’, Bucky.”

Said man lets the words sink home and then he glares furiously at him, “I’m here, so we might as well fuck.”

Steve blows out a small sigh, “but are you sure?” he wondered, now running appraising eyes over him. “You don’t look too well.”

Bucky actually marvels at the fact that Steve could pinpoint his condition. He quickly shakes his head though, dismissing the sharp observation. “Just a slight fever,” he admitted, now sliding the towel off his head, “I’ll be fine.”

Steve says nothing to the obvious lie.

Bucky walks past him and to the bed, “I’d have taken a shower if you actually had hot water running.”

“I’m sorry this isn’t a five star hotel.” Steve grouses.

Bucky’s hands swipe at the lapses of his jacket but fail to get the garment off. He curses and mutters swear words to no one. Suddenly, he feels larger hands help him take the damp jacket off.

“You too,” he whispers, breathlessly. “Lose the sweater.”

“Yeah, yeah” Steve says, he scowls at the heat vibes rolling off the brunet. “Undress first and then I’ll follow.”

Bucky prods the hems of his pullover and then starts tagging at them, finally getting it off his head with Steve’s aid. The piece of garment goes past his face, but the room swirls in his head. He fans back on Steve with a barely stifled groan, “so dizzy.”

Steve leads Bucky to the side of the bed and sits him down. “You should lie down.”

Bucky shakes his head in disapproval, but the movement only causes the room to spin more. He grunts and drops back on the sheeted mattress, slightly wet strands spilling on the cover. “Lie down with me.”

Steve doesn’t answer. He kneels on the bed and works on Bucky’s zipper. He takes his jeans off eventually, stripping him down to his boxers.

Bucky makes soft noises before finally passing out.

Steve tucks him under the cover and nestles his head on the pillow, and then he adds the throw Bucky brought last Saturday over the cover. He stands up, zeroing in on the sleeping man and trying to figure out his next step. He picks out the towel Bucky dropped and rinses it in cold water. He returns to Bucky’s side and puts the towel on his burning forehead.

 

 

 

The howl of the wind developed to prolonged whistles when the clock hit two in the morning. Bucky squirms under the covers and finally cracks his eyes open. He groans and props his head off the pillow, making the towel slip off. He looks around at the dim room, dazedly, finding Steve on the armchair again. Steve has prompted up at the muffled groan, and is now looking at Bucky who looks half asleep.

“What time is it?” He inquires.

Steve provides, “A little past two.”

Bucky pouts like a freaking kid denied access to candy, “it’s still early,” he says, and added “and cold. Come to bed.”

The man arches a surprised brow. “Is it okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be, it’s your bed, after all.” Saying so, Bucky sinks down into the pillows with a huff.

Steve shrugs and tiptoes to the bed, wincing every time the panels moaned under his soles. He crawls into the bed from the other side, and apparently, Bucky notices the dib of the added weight. He turns to lie on his back, his sleepy eyes trying to find Steve’s. Steve is kneeling on two, motions hold off in hopes for Bucky to fall back asleep, but the man latches weekly at his clothes.

“It’s so cold, hurry.”

Steve takes off his coat and drapes it over Bucky, and then he slides under the covers and lies on his side. He pauses suddenly when Bucky clings to him, shivering and muttering nonsense. Steve gets the hem of the cover up to his ear. He watches with rapt how Bucky, still shivering like a leaf, nuzzles up against his chest. He bets he’s savoring up some body heat, so he lets him be.

As Steve rests there on his side, a mop of brown hair buried under the covers and huddled up to his chest is all he can see from his angle. He assures himself that he has never seen this side of Bucky; clingy and spoiled with a hint of childishness even. He doesn’t know to what he should attribute the cause. He knows Bucky hates him with a passion that could set these woods on fire. He thinks back on the events from four years ago and, although he can’t remember much from the times he was under hypnosis, he remembers the dreams he used to see. He also remembers the time he saw Bucky in his clinic with his friend. The two of them had looked like the world had interest in nothing but making them miserable, and they looked like they had lost their trust in everything but themselves. As soon as Steve saw him, flashes of obscene dreams he’d been having about the man resurfaced and he felt like Bucky had the answers. It didn’t make sense at the time because he’d never seen Bucky before that day, and it was strange to feel the familiarity.

The aftermath of the accident rattled him and he lives in shame, guilt and fear, but it really can’t compare to what Bucky is still going through, which doesn’t add up.

Bucky withstood four or five months of daily torture. He always tried to resist but, with his friend held hostage and as leverage, he always succumbed to Steve’s demands. Every day, he tried to not lose his sanity, and he tried to keep his hope alive that they’d be saved and that Steve would get what he deserved. It worked.

But it still doesn’t add up.

The way Bucky is curled up and nestled against his chest –the man who took his innocence away, it doesn’t add up that he comes back every Saturday to part his legs and get fucked by the same man who planted horrors in him.

On a second thought, maybe Bucky is far smarter than Steve gave him credit for. Maybe, he is scheming to wrap his webs around Steve until he has no escape routes, and then he’ll crush him. It’s not that far-fetched. In any case, Steve will deserve it.

The only reason why he escaped the fire wasn’t because he wanted to live more. No. He wanted to live because he didn’t deserve to die easily after everything he’d done to people, to Bucky’s friends. God, he can’t even remember and it’s unfair to them. They suffered under his hands, and who knows how many Pepper had made him torture and kill.

He can tell, though, that Bucky was the only one he raped.

Now, as he eyes the sleeping man snuggling next to his chest, strange thoughts start to swarm him. This is the first time in years that he and Bucky sleep on the same bed without having sex. It is, somehow, pleasant. The only times Bucky shows up here is to fuck and, usually, Steve has to get in the mood so it wouldn’t upset Bucky. So it wouldn’t wound his pride, and if his pride is wounded, there’s no telling of what he might do.

A part of Steve would like Bucky to come here for more than just sex. He knows he has nothing to offer, besides the horrible memories and the poignant reminders, that is. However, he genuinely worries for Bucky’s condition. He isn’t taking care of himself, and, obviously, he isn’t getting enough sleep. He is getting sick and he is also avoiding food. Steve has noticed how Bucky’s weight has dropped a few kilos. He has noticed the sunken eye sockets and the hollow cheeks. If he keeps this up, he’ll fade in a matter of days.

Maybe it isn’t such a good plan for them to meet up.

Maybe, Steve should get his things and go away without leaving a trace behind.

He’d give anything to go back in time and correct everything. He’d give his life. Yet, he knows it can’t be done.

He ruined many people’s lives and he is still ruining Bucky’s –he wraps his arm around Bucky’s middle– he brings about nothing but death and despair. If Bucky stays here, he’ll be swallowed by this suffocating darkness, too. And Steve doesn’t want that to happen, not anymore. He wants Bucky, and even his friend, to have good lives. He wants them to move on and marry and have kids.

Bucky suddenly moans softly under his chin, as though responding to his thoughts. Steve tightens his hold around him and brings him closer.

Earlier, when Bucky walked in through the door, the first thing Steve noticed beside his drenched appearance was the way his eyes gleamed like shining pearls underwater, like crystals in caves. His eyes harbored compassion and care … and things Steve has never felt from another human but him.

This guy, this Bucky, how is he still capable of caring for someone who wronged him for too long?

Steve feels the corners of his eyes burn, but no matter how much he wills himself to cry, it never happens. He knows he isn’t permitted any of it, not after the things he did. So sentiments like compassion and care… they will continue to be elements of a fairy tale.

He can’t, however, swim with the tide. He won’t be pivoted the way Bucky wants him to. If he gives in now, and if he allows his feelings to come into play, he’s dead. Bucky might crush him eventually, just to get him for what he did, and maybe more. He won’t allow himself to relent to whatever these things he is feeling just holding Bucky closer to him like this. But, dear God, the touch of someone else… he’s never experienced this warmth.

 

Steve rouses from a heavy slumber, taking in the shafts of morning light and waiting for his hazy vision to focus. He becomes aware, then, of the fact that he dropped his guard and fell asleep. His vision finally focuses, and the feeling he gets from seeing Bucky’s peaceful sleeping face resembles the tranquility he gets from watching a meadow soaked in warm sun-rays. His arm is still draped on the man’s middle securing him near, so he wouldn’t be taken away, he assumes. He doesn’t know why. What he does know, though, is that Bucky won’t have to be taken away because once he wakes up he’ll demand to be freed.

The most amazing thing about this, however, is the hand Bucky has draped on Steve’s.

 

Bucky’s pupils quiver under his closed lids before finally letting the light shed on them. The scent of fresh loam races to his nostrils, and he takes in a long lungful before letting it out in a small yawn. He feels the touch of familiar skin under his fingertips, and he feels its muscles twitching. His head lolls on the pillow to the side, cheek meeting the fabric. He goes wide-eyed for a beat.

Steve’s green-blue eyes are on his. They aren’t cruel, and they aren’t even cold. They’re soft and a little smiling. Bucky’s breathing evens out bit by bit, falling into a slow rhythm. He holds eye contact with Steve, pupils switching from beholding the change in the usually cruel eyes to the small lips, the faint scar he himself carved, and then back to the eyes. He takes in all of Steve’s face.

Steve’s heart decides to leap beneath that bone cage of his. The way Bucky is looking at him is that of a lover… this can’t be happening. All Bucky gave him are hard and furious glares, not this. This enamored look. This is dangerous. This is very dangerous… but at the same time so fucking overwhelming. For the first time, Bucky is actually  _seeing_  him, looking at  _him._

Bucky moves his hand a little, and when the action doesn’t stir any undesirable reactions from Steve, he risks more. He starts stroking the arm in slow, sensual movements. He notices how Steve’s stiff muscles soften under his ministrations, and the resultant feeling is something he’s never expected someone to rouse in him, not after thinking his heart had grown numb.

Steve reminds himself of the resolve he set for last night, and starts to harden his glare.

At the hardened glare, Bucky holds off all motions. He starts to feel Steve slowly pulling his arm away, and the way their fingers brush before Steve remove his hand completely is so lovely, unusually so.  Realizing that Steve is trying to cover up whatever this moment they’ve just had, Bucky’s hand darts to the man’s wrist.

“Wait,” he croaks out the same time Steve is sitting up, “the deal. We didn’t do it last night.”

“It’s not Saturday anymore.” Steve defends.

Bucky looks up, face set in a deep scowl. “The deal was once a week,” he reminds.

“Lively at ass o’clock in the morning” he muttered to himself, now scrubbing a hand over his face. “I get it.” He clicks his lips in exasperation, “did you bring any lube?”

Bucky returns his hand to his side and nods, “in the chest pocket of my jacket.”

Steve picks out the garment, feels about its pockets and finally fishes out the small bottle of lube and the box of condom. He eyes the items with a pair of quizzical eyes before eying Bucky who blushes under the look and faces away, now lying on his side.

“Stomachaches” he reasons.

Steve hums part in understanding and part in amusement. “You’re putting one on too” he said, now dropping the jacket on the floor again, “can’t have you staining the sheets.”

Bucky’s pupils take in the formation of the wall while Steve settles behind him. “It’s not my size though.”

Steve removes the cover, revealing Bucky’s naked body. He catches sight of the bulge growing in size but decides not to make any comments. Bucky grunts in displeasure as cold air engulfs whatever visible of his skin. Steve props on his elbow behind Bucky’s back, he flings a pack of condom to Bucky while telling him to put it on himself. He slides his boxers down and, again, ignores the way Bucky shivers. After making sure Bucky put on the condom, he pours a remarkable quantity of lube on his hand and brings it to Bucky’s ass. Bucky hisses loudly the moment lube is smeared over his skin, but he grits his teeth anyhow.

 

The squelch caused by the wet friction makes Bucky blush all the way to his ears, and Steve is still using just his fingers. But it feels amazing. Steve is nudging his three fingers against Bucky’s good spot, making him arch and spasm then finally come.

Steve yanks his fingers out. He brings two other condoms, tosses one to Bucky again and shuffles a little to get his properly around his own cock, and then he immobilizes Bucky by the hip. Bucky emerges from the haze of his afterglow and gulps. After putting the rubber on, Steve slowly pushes his cock in, groaning again because the anticipated feeling didn’t disappoint. He slides his hand to Bucky’s knee and lifts it up. His head ducks down to Bucky’s neck so that his mouth is hovering over the flushed ear.

Bucky feels hot breath fanning on the side of his neck, and so his eyes roll under his head. “Move already” he breathes out.

Steve follows the command, thrusting into those flesh walls entombing his cock and pleasing it. He watches how Bucky’s neck stretches every time his head lolls to the other side, wanting to bury his face into the pillows but failing to. He watches how one of Bucky’s hands clutches at the sheets beneath, the other chases after Steve’s hair, finally gripping a few strands and Steve allows it. He also watches how Bucky parts his lips and lets out sweet moans and then nibbles at his thumb to probably keep from moaning out loud.

Steve is slowly but surely losing his mind…

Bucky hears Steve groaning and sighing into his ear, and the resultant shudders from just that is a thing of wonder. He feels a looming climax that plans to take over awaiting a push, so Bucky grants it. “Deeper,” he moans, “I want it deeper…”

Steve hooks his arm under the nook of Bucky’s leg and tags until he has more space. He rests his forehead on Bucky’s neck and snaps his hips, thrusting deeper.

Bucky hacks out a yelp of surprise, but the yelp soon turns into wanton moans and broken whimpers as if Steve’s dick is giving him a piece of heaven. It turns Steve on so fucking much that, instead of thrusting, he rams that dick into Bucky’s ass hole. It’s going to stretch, he is pretty sure, it’s going take the size of his cock and isn’t that terrific.

“Oh God, yes!” Bucky keens, saliva-slicked tongue snaking out to lick along his upper lip. “You’re stirring up my insides, it feels so fucking good!”

Steve smirks to himself at the compliment, and carries on his magic.

The hand Bucky has had over Steve’s head grips tightly on the smooth strands, and he turns his face towards Steve’s. The man is looking down at him with this look of bare hunger and raw lust that makes him all dizzy and hot. Hotter, he’d fucking melt. “Amazing,” he whimpers, and tears soon spill down his cheeks. “Harder! Give it to me harder!”

Despite the almost nonexistent distance between their mouths, they don’t kiss. They can’t, and shouldn’t. This is, after all, physical. No emotions are involved, and kissing would alter that meaning.

Bucky wonders: if two people shared the same past he and Steve did, would they still have sex so passionately like this?

Unbeknownst to him, Steve’s been thinking the same thing the moment he endeavored to do whatever Bucky pleased in bed.

Steve ejaculates and pulls his cock out, and Bucky’s ass hole gapes like a wormhole the size of Steve’s dick. He is a little upset, though. If he didn’t wear the condom, Bucky’s ass hole would have been gushing jizz out by now and it’d have been quite the sight.

Bucky, in contrast, doesn’t stir after the climax. He doesn’t even twitch as Steve feels his gaping hole. Worry finally kicks in because, in any other day, Bucky would have elbowed him in the face for treating him like a rare specimen. Steve sits up and calls Bucky out, but the man, again, doesn’t move or give any indication that he will. Steve taps at his cheek, and then it happens, he senses the odd heat weaves Bucky is giving off.

“Shit…”

The sex and, thus, the exertion must have spiked up the fever. It isn’t just slight warmth anymore. Bucky is breathing shallowly and perspiration is running down his face. Steve places two fingertips on Bucky’s pulse point in his neck, his eyes widening at the speed-up heartbeats.

Bucky has, yet again, left him in another state of worry.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 100 kudos! Guys, thank you so much!


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

It’s the same as every morning he awoke to in this cabin; he catches the dim rays of sunlight flitting around the room, and he stares at the logs forming the ceiling. What makes this time different, though, is the ease with which he sits up in bed. He already expected to find it empty judging by the deafening silence and the absence of warmth beside him, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when he doesn’t find Steve lounging on the armchair or loitering by the kitchen.

He takes a searching look at himself, finally is able to contribute the cause of him feeling chilly all over. He isn’t wearing any clothes, again. Bucky is confused: in any other day, he’d have raised hell about it, but it just doesn’t matter. He doesn’t remember much of last night’s events either, or even after he passed out this morning due to his fever which he is pretty sure Steve nursed him back to health from, but he knows something has changed.

He remembers waking up this morning and having the strangest moment with Steve where the man’s green-blue eyes roamed his features wordlessly as though committing Bucky’s face to his memory.

He knows he didn’t hate it. He also knows he didn’t like it, either.

He isn’t sure of anything anymore.

Something outside the window steals his attention and he is soon pulling the throw and making his way to it. He wraps the throw around him and stands by the window. The look of lost and confusion slowly morphs into delight and glee as a flake of snow swings in the air like a feather before landing on the window sill. Bucky gazes up at the sky as it unleashes more, coating the earth with a cold white blanket of snow.

 

Steve stumbles into the cabin again. The soles of his boots and the shoulders of his coat covered in snow. He shakes his head and ruffles his hair, and the snowy dust scatters off his smooth strands. Amidst his action, his eyes land on the bed. Finding it empty, he looks around with a small frown, but it dissipated quickly when he sees Bucky standing next to the window.

He kicks off his boots and marches in, the bags in his hands scratching. He lays them down on the counter and then, slowly, walks up to Bucky.

He finds the man beholding the snow falling outside with a childish amusement. He sees the gleam within his eyes and the twitch in his wide, merry smile. He has never seen Bucky look this happy before. Not in his dreams and nightmares, and certainly not after they met again. It starts doing things to his body. He starts to feel a good kind of numbness slowly spreading out, starting from his toes. He slowly loses sensation of the ground beneath him, and he feels like a balloon, floating.

Bucky realizes looking away from the window is hard to do, especially with the snow falling majestically like that. But then again, from the corner of his eyes he can see Steve’s on his profile, studying him. He faces the man, but with the excitement of witnessing the snow still soaring within him, he keeps the smile plastered on.

As soon as Bucky’s gleaming eyes landed on his, Steve could feel something burst inside his chest with vigor and vivacious joy. It takes all he has in power not to palm the man’s cheek and connect their lips together–

“I haven’t seen snow in years.” Bucky suddenly speaks, taking Steve out of his weird and wonderful musings. “I guess I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

Steve skids his eyes to Bucky’s long neck, scattered with moles. He remembers nibbling and blowing hot breath on it while having sex this morning. Then he aims his stare lower to Bucky’s shoulders, and he can tell the man has tried to cover them with the throw but it must have kept slipping down so he eventually gave up. He follows the length of the throw to the floor, and the way it’s flung on it like a king’s cape is so funny and fitting at the same time, Steve is stumped again.

Bucky’s smile slowly wanes at the way Steve’s eyes are taking in all of him.

“It snows here every year.” Steve said, surprising even himself. He looks up again into the almond-shaped eyes. “You’ll get used to it.”

Bucky blinks, long lashes luring Steve closer. Bucky looks out the window glass again, and his features lit up. “Will it be a white Christmas this year then?”

Steve shrugs slightly, “Probably.”

Bucky looks at him again and snorts, “It’s hard to imagine you as a kid opening up presents by the Christmas tree.”

“It’s hard to imagine a grown ass man asking about Christmas, yet here you are, defying the logic.” Steve counters.

Bucky curls his lips, “Touché.”

“Come on,” Steve juts his head towards the bed, “I finally managed to bring your fever down, don’t be reckless.”

“Give me two minutes.” Bucky beseeches.

Steve hardens his glare, “Back to bed, Buck.”

Bucky pouts and watches the snow with a pair of sorrowful eyes, as if he’ll be walking up to the gallows next for his death.

“One minute.” Steve finds himself uttering, briskly.

Bucky’s lips are already parting into a wide grin. He nods to the man and scoots closer to the window, resting his palm on its glass until it condenses.

Steve lingers there watching the man who used to be his captive; face aglow and smile radiant. Steve’s lived in this cabin for a few years now, and during that time, only once did he get a chance to see something that Bucky is now reminding him of:

_He’d finished a good hunt and had two wild rabbits, which he’d caught in the snares he had set up prior to that, wrapped and dangling down his shoulders. The sun had changed its angle a little but it was enough to wash the landscapes with magenta hues. Steve stopped in his tracks to behold the magic weaving before him. For the first time, he felt something. He felt an inner peace he never thought he would. It wasn’t dominant. But it was there._

Looking at Bucky now, that peacefulness starts to bubble up again. And compared to this morning, it’s overflowing now. He steps closer to him; his eyes glazed with want and need. He is a few inches taller so he ducks his head to Bucky’s neck, and he feels the way Bucky freezes. He frowns but doesn’t stop. He parts his lips slightly and brings them closer to the faintly feverish skin.

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off the snow, despite how Steve is –is he kissing his neck?

Steve’s parted lips touch the skin, his wet and hot breath making it shudder. He hears Bucky’s small sigh, and he fucking loves it. He closes his lips on the skin, opens them only to close them again. The wet noises entice him to do more.

Bucky’s pupils roll under his lids and his lips part open. He slowly tilts his head to the side and lets out a contented moan.

Steve takes that as his cue and presses up closer. His tongue snakes out, licking and rejoicing at the way it makes Bucky’s tremble. One of Steve’s hands slides through the opening between each seam of the throw, and rests it on Bucky’s hip. The other pulls the throw from the back, urging Bucky to let it slip down to the floor.

Bucky complies, letting go of the throw. It drops to their feet. The arm he had braced on the window gives out and he fans on the wall, breathless. The vapor outcast from his mouth fogs the glass every time he exhales.

Steve smirks to himself. Just a kiss and Bucky is already struggling to stay on his legs. He decides to go for more to test Bucky’s endurance. He stands behind him and stares at the scars and welts sullying the beauty of his pale skin. He brings his hands to the characters engraved and ghosts his fingertips on them. His smirk deepened when Bucky hissed. He eyes the scarred back, and the perky ass and then the long legs. He salivates at the sight and finds himself gulping. He’d been fucking this man but never really stopped to admire what he was pinning down and thrusting into.  He glides his hands to Bucky’s ass, very slowly, teasing and maddening.

Bucky clasps a hand on the glass and nibbles at its back, now making more throaty noises.

Steve swivels his hands towards the groin area, just ghosting over the skin. He catches sight of Bucky’s cock, rising up to the odd attention. He returns his lips to the hollow of Bucky’s neck, preferring to keep his hands on the man’s hips. He starts tonguing the area, and at the same time, he grinds against Bucky’s ass because of course he is hard. Both of them are.

Bucky sticks out his ass a little, and tilts his neck even more. He closes his eyes and allows his moans free.

Steve suckles on the skin in earnest. He brings a hand to Bucky’s fair hair, clutches a fistful and then yanks, making Bucky groan hotly. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and groans.

Despite his efforts to keep his moans to minimum, Bucky can’t help but whimper at the teeth sinking into his skin.

Steve hears a muffled thump coming from the floor, he looks down and the glittering milky cum pooled between Bucky’s parted feet tells him that what he’d wanted to happen has happened. He feels Bucky slowly starting to slide down so he helps him up. He steps away and towards the table.

“Let’s eat.”

 

 

**~~~~~~**

 

 

The holidays started on Friday, 22nd of December, and Steve disappeared on Thursday 21st.

 

Bucky is inside a dingy restaurant, the only place that agreed to open on a Christmas day; the places probably harbors no Christians. He is sitting in the booth by the window. His fingers moving in idle patterns on the table and eyes looking at the snowflakes falling down to add in inches in the white cover spread on town. There’s just him and an old man by the counter who ordered a large hamburger, like the one on his table and which has been left untouched.

 

_“Let’s eat.”_

_Bucky’s eyes trailed the man’s broad back. He felt worry swirl within him when Steve pulled the chair back, ready to sit._

_“I can’t.”_

_Steve held off all movements and looked up, at him. He eyed his collar in a way that suggested he wanted to bury his mouth in it again, switched to look at the bare chest, and then the withered cock nested between Bucky’s thighs. He let out a small sigh and looked away altogether._

_“There’s a kettle on the fire,” he said, “there’s hot water in it. Wash up.”_

_Bucky picked up the throw and left his own mess behind, and then flung the piece of covering on the bed before heading to the fireplace where the kettle had been placed. He lifted it and felt the hot air pushing him back. He ignored it and scurried to the bathroom, locking the door behind._

_When he stepped out of the confined space with a towel wrapped around his waist, he found Steve still sitting at the table with a large bowl in front of him. He walked to the bed again, eyed the layers of neatly folded and clean clothes. He glanced over at the profile of the man as a twinge of shallow gloom engulfed him at the lonely face, and then resumed wearing the warm garments. He approached the table but Steve hooked a thump over his shoulder, ushering to the fireplace._

_“Had to reheat it,” he said, “was starting to become soggy.”_

_Bucky nodded and swiveled to take his bowl off the carroty embers. He returned to the table again and sat on the same chair from the other day, and delighted at the sight of black bean sauce noodles still popping bubbles._

_“Where did you get this?”_

_Steve paused for a beat but quickly resumed eating, “I bought it.”_

_Bucky’s brows furrowed, “how?”_

_Steve glared at him and the brunet immediately clamped down. Not for too long, though._

_“I brought canned fish with me, you know.”_

_Steve scoffs, looking surprisingly amused. “Why would I eat garbage food when I can catch trout in the river?”_

_Fair enough._

_Bucky succumbed to silence after that because he thought it was wiser. He and Steve didn’t talk except for when Bucky finally decided to go back to his place. Steve stood up and offered to walk him back since the roads had been covered in snow, to which Bucky agreed with a jerky nod._

_The walk on the snow-layered road was silent, too. The only voices that interrupted that silence were the intermittent crunching of their boots on the snow. When they finally reached the tree lines that overlook the town, Steve just turned and walked back the same road without a word. Bucky’s hopeful eyes dulled and his face sagged. He’d been planning to ask Steve to come over to spend the Christmas with him but it became obvious the man had had plans of his own._

 

The waiter nears his table and says something about closing time, and Bucky wakes up from his flashbacks. He pays the bill and vacates the restaurant. He stands at the curb outside and scans the street illuminated by glowing festive lights. He thrusts his hands into his pockets and marches forward, snowflakes still falling and landing on the top of his head and shoulders.

 

_On Thursday, Bucky decided to muster his courage and go see Steve, maybe even convince him to spend Christmas together. He rode his bike on the road that was still covered in snow and finally reached Steve’s cabin. He’d been losing sleep over this, thinking and trying to craft up ideas on how to start the topic because Steve and Bucky weren’t friends, there were benefits but they weren’t friends. It became a whole different thing when he found a dozen of strange men inside the cabin, but no Steve._

_The boisterous men had been laughing when Bucky strolled in, bare confusion on his face._

_“Who’re you?” one of them asked, in his hand was a can of fish Bucky had brought the previous week._

_“I should be asking you that,” he countered, slowly taking his gloves off. “This isn’t your place.”_

_“It’s yours?” Another one asked, he looked so Alpha and was most likely the leader or whatever of them._

_Bucky gulped and shook his head, “it’s my friend’s.” He winced at his own wording._

_“Oh, I apologize.” The middle-aged man said on a smile. “We, my friends here and I, are hunters.”_

_Bucky eyed the said men who jutted and nodded their chins at him. He nodded back and faced the leader again, “you hunt what, exactly?”_

_“Anything legal” He said in response, “but mostly boars.”_

_“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”_

_The man scratched his temple with a calloused hand, “received news that a blizzard is gonna hit tonight,” he said, “we didn’t have time to go back and return since we’re waking up at dawn anyway. Soon as we found the cabin we settled in.”_

_“You can’t just barge into people’s places.”_

_“I know. We’re sorry.” He said, face falling. “We’re going to bail at first sun ray.”_

_Bucky allowed the info to sink home and slowly nodded, now he chewed his bottom lip and looked around, “where’s Ste–” he cut himself off and glared at the man, “where’s my friend, anyway?”_

_“Dunno,” he said, “place was empty when we got here.”_

 

Now that Bucky thinks of it, he should have realized what was going on after he spent the entire night there and Steve still didn’t show up.

 

_By the first ray, the hunters upped and left with their firearms tucked under their armpits. Bucky waited again until seven thirty and went back to the school. He returned around six in the evening again, to see if Steve was back. He wasn’t._

_On Friday, Bucky took his bike and rode to the cabin. He’d been so sure Steve would be there but had the biggest surprise when he found the place empty. The fireplace was cold, so was the bed. The things Bucky had brought before were still in their bags, except for the things the hunters used and ate. He strode out, feet trudging. He surveyed the mountains and trees surrounding the cabin under the angry clouds and the hiding half moon._

_He decided to spend the night and hoped Steve would be home already when he woke up._

_He wasn’t._

_Bucky put on his jacket and dashed outside, jaw slack and eyes wide. He searched the woods, places that took him back to the time Steve had chased him and he had run for his life. Despite that, he lingered there with this flaming hope to find Steve because there was nothing in the cabin that suggested he really left. But the man himself wasn’t there, hadn’t been in days._

_In a moment of frenzy, Bucky parted his lips and screamed himself hoarse._

_He was becoming someone that he’s not. He was afraid he was losing himself but all that mattered was Steve. He screamed because, more than the thought of his sanity finally buying the farm, he was scared Steve was really and seriously gone._

 

He adjusts his woolen scarf over his nose and returns his hand into his pocket.

Just ahead in the almost vacant alley, Bucky sees a box from which he hears noises growing desperate. He approaches it very carefully, and his gloomy face lightens up at the sight of the golden retriever puppy with no name tag. People still do stuff like this, seriously, and in a day like this? He crouches by it and picks the whimpering puppy up to his chest. He pets the back of its ears and it purrs in response.

He can take it home but what about after the holidays, who would take care of it when Bucky is at work?

His logical side finally wins over and his face falls again. He does want to pick up the puppy, but he doesn’t want to do a half-assed job of looking after it. He’s pretty sure that, since he stopped to check the puppy, others will and someone will eventually take it home.

With that in mind, Bucky places the puppy back in the cartoon box and walks ahead.

 

He’d ignored his father’s as well as Clint’s calls when they started calling soon after Steve disappeared, what with him pondering the possibility of the man never coming back, and eventually had turned their invitation down.

He should be home, with his family, celebrating this special eve together.

He sighs and pauses in his track, shoulders slumping. He isn’t a good son, is he? Favoring the fantasy or whatever the fuck Steve gives him over the tender smiles and joyful atmosphere of the people who love him the most. He guesses with his current mindset, there’s no way he can face his family.

He can’t do one thing right.

He turns and faces the way he came from, his footprints slowly getting covered again by the falling snow. He lets out another sigh and walks the road back to where he saw the box. If he can’t make himself or his family happy, he can at least try and do one good in this world. Steve was gone, probably to never come back. But life doesn’t stop at that, and Bucky, deep down, he knows it. He just doesn’t know how it’s going to be for him from now on coming to the realization that Steve is gone.

Just beyond the haze, near the light pole where he’d left the puppy in the box, he sees a man dressed in black crouching by it. Bucky scowls and approaches the man, who suddenly lifts the puppy and starts to walk away, and then scurries after him.

“Hey, you!” he calls out, “stop! That puppy isn’t yours.”

The man grinds to a sudden halt, but doesn’t turn around.

Bucky also comes to an abrupt stop, face still scowling. As the haze of snow and wind ebbs, the broad back of the strange man starts to seem very familiar. Bucky’s lips part and the scowl soon morphs into something else, something that prompts tears in his eyes.

“Steve?” He calls again, incredulously, like he wants to make sure this isn’t just another fragment of his imagination.

The man reels around very slowly, the puppy tucked under his black coat with just its head popping out, whole brown eyes sparkling up at him.

“You ignored him.”

Bucky cups his mouth and his tears break free, streaming down his blushing cheeks. “What the hell” he hiccups, “what’re you doing here, Steve?”

Said man shrugs, “Was running a few errands.”

Bucky’s crying face hardens, “for four freaking days?”

Steve pets the puppy’s head and remains silent.

Bucky regains his composure and exhales, a long shaky breath of relief. “I thought you were gone.”

“Obviously, I’m not.” Steve stated.

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair and flakes of snow slide down. He takes a step forward, and another and another until he’s standing a stride length away from Steve. He looks up into his eyes and then at the puppy, “I came back with the intention to take him with me.”

Steve only continues to pet the puppy.

Up close, Steve looks like he’s gained a little weight. His complexion looks better and the trimmed beard suits him quite a lot. He also sounds… cheerful? Bucky berates himself inwardly for even thinking that, especially when he doesn’t know where the man has been if not in the cabin. He watches how Steve’s long fingers brush the puppy’s fur with care. He imagines that tender touch on his hair, on his body… fuck; he’s going to become hard just thinking about it.

“Steve,” he starts, gaining the man’s attention. “They say the storm is not gonna lit up soon, why don’t you come over to my place?”

 

  
The front door opens with a creek, and Bucky’s hand slides in first, groping the wall for the switch. He clicks it and steps in, followed by Steve who is still hugging the puppy to his chest. He kicks his shoes off and saunters in, now working his jacket open.

“I have a chair pad somewhere,” he starts, finally managing to remove his jacket and hang it on the wall rack. “Let me see if I can find it.”

Steve remains by the door, eyes searching the apartment.

“You can come in, you know.” Bucky shakes his head a little on that scoff, and disappears inside

Steve takes off his boots and coat, and places the puppy on the floor. He watches it teeter and totter before finally regaining its balance, and then he steps in to further inspect the small place. Bucky then reappears before him with a gleeful face as he shows him the marine blue chair pad in his hands.

“Found it in the linen closet.” He reports, now going down to his knees to lift the puppy. He cradles it and smiles up at the snout that nuzzles his nose. “It’s a guy, right?”

Steve says nothing which makes Bucky look up.

“It’s a he, right?”

Steve nods.

“What do we call you, huh?” He asks the puppy, and then looks up again at Steve. “I’ve prepared the bathroom for you, I mean if you want to take a shower.” He trails off, “I’m about to start dinner preparations, so take your time.”

Steve’s heavy-lidded eyes remain on Bucky’s, almost unnerving. He studies the way Bucky’s cheerful face falls and how he slowly hugs the puppy to him, tighter. He ruffles his hair and brushes past them.

Realizing the man was taking his advice on taking that shower, Bucky quickly stands erect. “It’s the second door on your left.”

 

 

He sprinkles some garlic powder on the two chicken breasts he placed on the counter, and the sound of water gushing from the shower head confirms the wonderful fact that Steve wasn’t gone anymore. It’s almost unbelievable when he thinks about it; just a few days ago he was looking everywhere like a chicken with its head cutoff but couldn’t find the man, now he’s inside his bathroom. Bucky already left his shaving kit and his clothes in there, praying they’d fit. He did pick the over-sized clothing so Steve wouldn’t have trouble getting the dark purple sweatshirt past his head.

It’s wonderful.

Not long ago, he was struggling to find a way to convince Steve to spending Christmas Eve with him. He didn’t have to anymore. Steve is here, in his  _bathroom_.

 

Steve steps out, dressed properly in Bucky’s clothes that fitted him almost too perfectly. The scent of food lures him and he saunters towards the living room, finding Bucky and the puppy on the former’s sofa, playing. He smiles to himself almost fondly at the sight but quickly drops the smile when Bucky props up.

“You done?”

Steve nods and nudges his hands into the side pockets of his sweatpants. “Thanks for letting me use your bathroom.”

Bucky shows this strange beam which Steve doesn’t know what to make of, and shakes his head, “I fixed us some grub,” he notifies, “you hungry?”

Steve presses his lips together and nods, “I could eat.”

“Great,” Bucky picks the puppy again and heads towards the kitchen, assured the man was following closely by.

 

At dinner table, Bucky doesn’t bring up the bit about the hunters or how he spent the past three or four days searching for Steve, but he does initiate the talk with an inquiry.

“So where have you been, if not in the cabin.”

Steve slurps his soup and shrugs a shoulder slightly, “told you.”

“Running errands,” Bucky echoes, “yeah, I heard you the first time.”

 Steve picks a portion of the chopped chicken breasts and dumps it into his mouth. He nods at the puppy suddenly, “Are you going to keep him?”

Bucky’s eyes skid towards the puppy munching away on a chunk meat, and he plasters on another vague grin. “I’d love to.”

“What’re you naming him, then?”

Bucky clears his throat, “Dunno,” he said, “was thinking to leave that up to you, I mean I’m keeping him anyway.”

Steve’s eyes and Bucky’s meet and they hold the contact for a beat.

“Alright,” Steve agrees, but then falls silent as the wheels of his brains begin a ride to find a moniker.

“I remember Tony,” Bucky starts but the way Steve flinches makes him go pale. “He died for you, you know.”

“I know.” Steve replies, crossly. He leans back on the chair and wipes his mouth with the napkin. “Thanks for the food.”

Bucky nods jerkily, bottom lip caught between two sets of teeth. He needs to learn when to speak and when to keep fucking quiet. Steve was back to scowling again and Bucky is reeling because the man might decide to leave, again. He quickly changes the subject so Steve won’t even get the chance to decide anything.

“How was it?”

Steve folds the napkin and places it near his half empty plate, “surprisingly good.”

A broad smile takes over Bucky’s lips, almost showing his pearly teeth “I know right,” he said, “better than your grilled fish.”

Something like an affectionate smile tugs at Steve’s lip, but he doesn’t let it. “Maybe”

Bucky looks away and pushes his chair backward, “I’m going to take a shower now,” he said, “No name here is coming with.”

Steve also pushes his chair rearward and lifts up, “I’ll clean the table.”

“Put everything in the dishwasher.” He told him, now laying the golden retriever on his shoulder.

 

Steve didn’t seem willing to share his whereabouts for the past few days, and it’s a good thing Bucky didn’t try to pry it out of him. Although he asked a couple of times, he assumes that isn’t enough to drive Steve away.

He peels his shirt off, and then moves on to the buckle of his belt.

To be honest, there’s no guarantee that Steve is going to spend the night over. He looked like with one poke and he’d bolt out as if Hell hounds were chasing him. He didn’t look comfortable talking to Bucky about anything, except for when they talked about the food and Bucky hardly calls that an achievement. In fact, Steve might be getting his things to leave right fucking now. He can’t figure him out, and he can’t bet on chances.

He picks the puppy dog and gets into the tub, sitting inside of it and ignoring the way the water overflows to the floor.

The mere mention of Tony chased the color from Steve’s face, thus his as well. He doesn’t know what he was thinking, maybe he wasn’t thinking at all. Tony died an honorable death, more or less, and Steve shouldn’t feel any dole about that particular volume of his past. Although Tony made mistakes, he tried to wipe the slate clean by sacrificing himself. Maybe those weren’t mistakes; cleaning after psychopathic Steve wasn’t a mistake, it was a choice. The man still did something good in the end.

Bucky splashes some water on his face.

It was stupid to bring up Tony. Hey, I have an idea, why don’t you name the dog after the person who used to clean after your bloody messes so it’d always keep the reminder alive. How fucking brilliant.

“Ugh.”

Brilliant, just brilliant…

 

He walks out and the steam stalks after him, along with the scent of mint and fresh sea minerals. He already bid on finding the apartment empty, so when he goes into the living room and finds it empty, he chuckles. Now, that’s what you call a brilliant deduction. He puts the dog on the chair pad, turns the lights off and heads to his bedroom.

Upon entering the small room, he finds Steve by the nightstand with a photo frame in his hand. He pauses but eventually rejoices at the fact that he was wrong about Steve. The man wasn’t so fickle, thank God. He closes the door and steps towards his bed.

“This is your father?”

Bucky rounds the bed to stand beside him. He takes the photo frame from him and eyes it. It’s a family photo of himself, his parents, and Clint (because Clint was family). “After my return, my mother decided that we didn’t have enough family photos and forced all of us into it.”

Steve frowns, “your return?”

Bucky’s heart slams against his chest vigorously at the ugly truth behind that statement. He opens the first drawer of the nightstand and hides the picture inside to probably hide the memories as well. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, “it’s all in the past.” He switches the light of the lamp on and faces the man again. He speaks after a long pause “I thought you left.”

Steve’s dark, mesmerizing pupils start casting their spell, charming Bucky the second their eyes met. “I decided to stay.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, almost in a husky moan. “What changed your mind?”

Steve snakes his tongue out, licking his lips. He shrugs lazily and steps closer to the man, removing the space between them.

Bucky gets all dizzy. He rests his hands on Steve’s arms, and starts sliding them up very slowly. “I’m glad then” he whispers, his hands finally reaching Steve’s hair. By this point, he is panting hotly, “So fucking glad.”

Steve ducks and wedges his face in Bucky’s neck, and the man throws his head to the back, moaning in pleasure. They fan on the bed, and for the first time, Steve places himself between Bucky’s legs without ordering him to turn over.

 

 

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky grunts into Steve’s ear, cutting the continuous cries and moans. “It’s slamming so deep.”

Steve thrusts into the man beneath at his heart’s content, he already had his legs spread and folded to his chest. This is different from their other times as he can see Bucky’s expression, and even allowed it when the man hugged him.

Bucky feels Steve’s dick shoving and drilling deeper with each thrust and he is about to lose his mind. This is so hot and somewhat passionate, even the fact that they’re doing it missionary is making him all woozy in the head. He moans like a whore fucked by two.

“More, Steve” he begs, “I want to be fucked more by you.”

Steve’s heart flutters because this is also the first time Bucky has ever called his name during sex. He frames the crown of Bucky’s head with a hand and the other glides under the man, bringing him even closer as he snaps his hips. He thrusts into him like he’s using an Onahole. Bucky yelped, moaned and whimpered at that. Steve bucks up just a little to watch as Bucky’s sapphire blue eyes narrow and his mouth parts open, a whimper tearing from his lungs as he spurts his cum over his chest.

Holy fuck! It’s the best thing Steve’s seen in his life. He darts his hand to the throbbing but nonetheless relieved cock to milk out cum, but Bucky rests his hand on his, and he fucking mewls as he stops him.

“It’s sensitive.” He said…, a déjà-vu?

Steve licks his upper lip and realizes the way with which he’s beholding Bucky’s sexed-out expression is like a damn hungry wolf salivating over its prey, its sexy, sweat-soaked, panting and blushing prey. He wants to mess him up, squeeze his dick and see how beautifully he’ll cry.  He blows out a ragged breath and spins his hip to rub the inside of Bucky’s ass.

Bucky pouts up at him. He wordlessly returns his hands around Steve’s neck and locks his ankles behind the man’s back. “It’s okay, Steve” he says out of no freaking where that it takes Steve a moment to decipher the meaning, but still fails. “Move already.”

Steve tightens his hold around Bucky again and knocks their foreheads together.

However, they don’t kiss…

 

Steve, naked and sweaty, sits on the bed in complete darkness. He glances over at the man sleeping away, and frowns. They’ve just had hot passionate sex. He and Bucky, his former captive, the man he used to torture and rape. He braces his elbows on his knees and drops his head in his hands, just what in the world is he doing? He so readily accepted Bucky’s invitation, and even crawled into his bed. Just how messed up is he going to be and how low is he going to bring Bucky until he’s satisfied. He’s a selfish prick and Bucky deserves better, the way he fucking smiles… This is not fair to the man.

“Steve?”

The man snaps out of his reverie and looks over at Bucky, finding him propped up on his elbow, brown hair ruffled and standing out in every direction, and bare skin showing love bites scattered randomly.

“Did I wake you?” His velvety voice cuts the silence.

“Mm,” Bucky shakes his head sluggishly, “is it still snowing?”

Steve faces the window, the only source of light, and nods.

“Merry Christmas, Steve.” Bucky’s sleepy voice drones through a smile.

Steve twists around to face Bucky, “Merry Christmas.”

 

This needs to stop.

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

 

When he woke up the next day, the side of the bed next to his was empty.

 

Today isn’t Saturday, it’s Wednesday. Bucky couldn’t wait a whole week for their meeting day, especially after the hot night he and Steve shared on his bed.

He enters the empty cabin and kicks off the boots smeared in muddied snow, and then skulks farther to put the shopping bags on the table.

He doesn’t know Steve’s thoughts on the passionate night they spent together, or how he feels about it. He isn’t here to find out, either. He’s here today… just because, really. He isn’t sure. A part of him just couldn’t stop the excitement from oozing every time he remembered Saturday.

Bucky finds the kettle inside the fireplace nested on burning embers, suggesting that Steve is still planning to come back. He sits on the bed and listens to the silence. Distant chirping and squeaks interrupt this silence from time to time, but he slowly starts to realize that this cabin and this silence is a lot like Steve; lonely, cold and misunderstood. It’s funny how the temperature drop embodies Steve’s icy cold attitude, and how the burning embers in the fireplace symbolize the hungry lust he saw in the man’s eyes when he was fucking him. It’s also funny how the cabin in the woods is eerie at first glance –something that takes him back to Steve’s first appearance.

He fans back on the bed sheets and the specks of dust fly off like a swarm of butterflies disturbed by a breeze. The scent of wood and soil race to his nostrils, and the touch of sheets fondles his back. He snuggles on the bed, making soft noises at the scent that fills up his head with images of Steve’s face inches from his, deep set eyes looking into his with kindness and lust.

One of his hands slides under his belt, cupping the tent beneath the fabric. The other goes to his mouth and he suckles on its back.

 

Steve’s been living a roller-coaster of emotions because of recent events. He tried going hunting so it’d take his mind off things, off the way Bucky chewed on his quivering lip, desperate and lonely for a touch, the way he whimpered and sobbed as if Steve was a sex God giving him intermittent orgasms, the way his pupils glinted whenever their eyes met and the way he wrapped his limbs around Steve as though holding on so he wouldn’t drown in pleasure. It became too much at one point and he couldn’t just sit there and finish  _To Build a Fire_ , so he picked his hunting gear and sauntered out.

He knows Bucky kept that habit of coming every Saturday, but he didn’t count on their last encounter to cause a change in agenda. Now, as he stands there by the cabin’s front door, he hears moans echoing off from the inside; Bucky’s moans, his hot, sexy moans.

Steve freezes by the doorstep with a hand on the handle.

He listens in, although he knows it’s wrong, he listens in. He hears his name being called out on a prolonged little whine, and no other words can describe the way with which his stomach vibrates. He’s never even dreamed of this day where Bucky will finally jerk off to him, _willingly_. Steve frowns. He already decided to stop this but now he is getting second thoughts. Alright, so maybe Bucky doesn’t plan on snatching this away from him after he’s played him well. Maybe Bucky really…loves him? Steve wants to laugh. Bucky doesn’t love him, he can’t. Steve tortured and assaulted him, he gave him nothing but broken bones and burnt skin and raped ass. These sins, they can’t be forgotten or forgiven, not by Bucky, and not by the history that Steve is pretty sure will repeat itself if Bucky hangs at the cabin more often.

He reels around and leaves with the spoil of the hunt dangling down one of his shoulders.

 

 

Bucky’s irregular panting is the only sound beating the silence as he lies there, sprawled like a starfish. He sits up with a small groan and eyes the mess on his hand and his cock, and sighs. It’s a good thing Steve isn’t here to see the state he’s in. He probably should clean up and leave and make good of the fact that Steve has no idea he was here on a freaking Wednesday. Besides, the puppy must be going crazy at the neighbor’s; poor thing never liked the old scary lady.

He goes back home and prays Steve doesn’t pinpoint the evidence of him barging into the place when its owner was outside.

 

 

 

On Saturday, just a day away from the New Year eve, Bucky buys presents and a cake, which he got a discount on at the bakery down town, and heads to the woods. He already left the three-week old puppy at his coworker’s, Sharon, the same music teacher who blushes at his sight.

 

There’s nothing more beautiful than light snowfall sprinkling on lofty-armed trees like sawdust. He feels wafts of wind sweeping through the empty tree lines like a companion in his trek. The path glitters and crunches beneath his boots. He looks up with clear-blue eyes and finds the cabin slowly coming into view, so he beams and quickens his pace.

Finally, he’s going to see Steve.

 

“Hey,” he gushes after entering and finding Steve standing by the window. He places the bags at the foot of the table and the cake on its top. “I know it’s a day away, but I couldn’t hold myself when I found about the discounts.”

Steve unfolds his arms and thrusts his hands into his pockets, and then, very slowly, turns around.

Bucky smiles widely upon seeing the man’s face, his evidently cross face. “I hope you like vanilla cream.”

“Bucky,” just as the words are voiced, said man stills and his beam dissipates. “I admit I never expected to see you again, not after what I’d done to you. But I’ve been telling you over and over again, I do not desire you the way you want me to. The fact that you come here into a place I’d always considered a sanctuary is really upsetting me. You’re threatening my inner peace.” He said, coolly, “There can never be a thing between you and me. So I’d like you to take your stuff and leave, and I don’t want you to come back.”

“Okay, random.” Bucky scoffs with no humor. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“From weeks of gritting my teeth and praying you’d someday just stop showing up.”

Bucky simply shrugs and says “That’s not going to happen.”

“It will.” Steve says on a shrug of his own, “I’ve already paid my debts to you, now, I want you to leave.”

“Debts?” Bucky cocks his head and frowns, “you think you can make up for the things you made me go through?”

“Then I guess there’s no reason for you to come back here.”

“I told you–”

“You want to make me relive the hell I made you go through, yes, you’ve made that plenty clear so far.” Steve sighs wearily like he wants to hurry up and end this conversation so he can go back to his book, “I don’t care about that, or about you.”

Bucky’s throat constricts. He doesn’t want to trust Steve’s words, sharp like a knife, heart-twisting like the hurtful betrayal of loved ones. They’ve come a long way. Surely Steve agrees. His arms sag at his sides, “but” he clears his throat over whatever is constricting his throat. “You’re starting to feel something.”

Steve’s smirk is cold, “towards you? Yeah, that’s called pity.”

Bucky’s lips part slightly and he makes a face. This isn’t happening; did Bucky really read him wrong all those times Steve’s and his chemistry connected almost perfectly, or the subtle wave of emotion on Steve’s face every time they embraced…?

“The only reason why I agreed to your nonsense was because I felt sorry for you.” The blond still insists, “Nothing more.”

“But last time” –Bucky gulps, in an attempt to hold off his tears. Oh, how humiliated he would be if it turns out that Steve isn’t just playing another game of his– “we connected…”

Steve barks a laugh, “Are you even listening to yourself?” he exclaims, “You gave me a hole to fuck and I did. Don’t come crying to me if you were easily swayed.” He picks the cake like he’s weighing it in his hand, and throws it to the door, and then the bags, making Bucky flinch with every loud thud and slam. “I’ve grown tired of you, so why don’t you do us both a favor and get out.”

Bucky slowly lowers his head, drained of any thoughts; he can’t even feel his legs or the floor he’s standing on. For a moment, it feels like he’s lost complete command over his numb limbs, but he moves them eventually and swivels around, vacating the cabin. He feels his chest tight and his eyelids heavy with unshed tears, mourning in consolation. He lets out a scoffing breath; it’s funny because he’s inconsolable.

It’s not like he lost a pair of socks. It’s not like his bike fell into a ditch… those things he can heal from, but he doesn’t know if he can heal from this.

He trudges on the thick layers of snow, heavy steps taking him somewhere; anywhere but the cabin.

God…

So last time was just Steve fucking a hole? Is that it? Then what was that glint in his eyes? And why were his arms so gentle? And why the hell did he hug him back!

His foot hits something and he stumbles down, gazing dazedly at the lifted root that he tripped over. He’s too worn-out to curse or kick snow to blow off steam. He’s too tired to get back up on his feet. He frames his face and cries into his hands, hot tears slithering between his palm lines.

He is a mess.

Steve wasn’t wrong. Bucky should have been stronger than that, shouldn’t have let himself get easily swayed. After all, the only thing that can be between them is the reminder of a past so ugly. He doesn’t know why he expected more, and he doesn’t know why it hurts to be chased off despite the fact that he was brought here by sheer happiness and excitement. Steve was right. Bucky gave him a hole, and the man used it. He was used yet again, and he was the one to initiate it which means Steve will most likely not feel remorse.

Bucky wonders if he ever has…

He hears the bushes at a side rustling, and it delays his feel-sorry-for-my-self weeping play. He sits upright and he feels the way the cold wind dries his tears. This hope in him rises at the thought that it’s Steve, regretting his words and actions, has decided to come after Bucky and fix everything. But remembering the cold smirk and the dead eyes, Bucky’s hope crumbles.

“Who’s there?”

A blood-smeared snout edged by two long and sharp tusks comes out of the bushes, followed by fur, and Bucky’s sadness gets momentarily replaced by fear because that’s got to be one of the wild boars those hunters from the other time were hunting. Obviously, they missed. In a moment so erratic, the boar sprints towards him with his mouth open, revealing the sharp set of fangs.

Bucky regains sensation in his legs and levers up, ready to sprint. He finds another angry-looking boar in his path that, also, doesn’t wait for the startup cue and launches at him. Bucky topples to the back and brings his arms up in front of him, and all his sees through the chaos consisting of tusks and snow-dust and fur is a pairs of unforgiving eyes, and all he hears is the squeal of the boars. He flails his legs and elbows one of them, but its fang manages to sink into his arm, and he whimpers. He tries to lift up and the momentum gives the other boar a chance to pierce his fang in Bucky’s collar until blood spurts on the white snow, tainting it with a splash of crimson.

He almost lets them eat him.

Thinking back on the days of hell he survived and of his family believing in him enough to let him come here unescorted gifts him with more strength and, in a wonderful moment of renewed resolution, he manages to push the boars off him and dart forward. He doesn’t stop until he’s out of the woods and facing the main road. He wobbled to his knees as the blood loss has finally caught up to him. Then radiant headlights speed towards him and that’s the last thing he sees before fainting to the tarred ground.

 

 

 

Bucky rises to consciousness with a soft groan, and aside from the intermittent beeps and the muffled voices, he feels a dull and piercing pain in his neck and upper arm, preventing any deep thoughts. He slowly pries his eyes open and grunts at the assaulting beams overhead. There’s a faint weight on his left arm and the side of his neck from where the pain is radiating. The beeping returns and he looks away from the ceiling, letting his head loll to the side. His bleary eyes open properly, discovering a metal pole hooked horizontally on his bed. He hears another muffled voice, as if coming from underwater, and turns to it, finding his father hovering atop him with worry marring his face.

He scowls up at his father who is mouthing something which he can’t hear. He groans in protest and forces his eyes close.

“Hurts…” the voice said, “Call the nurse…”

“Wha…?” Bucky breathes out, faces away and tries to sit up, but agonizing pain flares up in his left side and he cries out. His bearings come intact and he draws his legs to his chest and curls up on his side, nursing his injured arm.

“Son,” his father’s voice returns, cool and confident. “Try not to move too much. I already called the nurses.”

Bucky gasps because his brief moment of semi-lucidity is now being overtaken by tremors of excruciating pain. He shuts his eyes again, tears roll down as though aiming to win a race. “Hurts…”

The beeping grows, and the world of beaming fluorescent lights swirls and darkens at the edges.

“I know” his father said, now combing his greasy, sweat-filled hair with his callous fingers. “They’re going to be here soon.” He soothes and, miserly, watches how his son caves to oblivion.

 

He was in his office singing papers and hoping the rest of the day would stay the same, no urgent calls of duty, but alas, he was wrong. His personal phone started ringing and he frowned at the 3-digit number because that’s usually a sign of something bad. He connected the call and didn’t need to hear the rest when the woman on the other end of the line had brought up ‘hospital’, ‘your son’ and ‘immediately’.

He took sick leave and rushed out, to Enola, and was there in less than an hour which, according to him, is record time. Now that he thinks of it, he must have broken too many of traffic laws that the MMA would bury itself underground if this ever gets out. But the moment that nurse lady blurted out his son’s name and that he was hurt, logic became a thing of debate. He was then taken into a room soon after they had his son out of ICU and settled in room 34. He can’t deny the good mannerism with which he was manhandled, but he guesses his uniform is to thank for that.

He had been sitting on a chair by Bucky’s bedside, and noticed how his son started to stir and groan. He knows his son and he knew he was going to start moving a lot soon. Indeed, moments and the nurses had to be rushed in. They came in and gave his son a sedative and some morphine to help him rest, and the doctor went on about the surgery again and its effects and possible rehabilitation, which, really? He didn’t have the spirit to hear out so he dismissed the doctor until his son was awake. The doctor, thankfully, was very understanding and left after tapping his shoulder in consolation.

Now, as he sits there eyeing his son’s battered body, he starts to ponder the story he was told: It seems that Bucky got attacked inside the woods by a couple of boars, and then was almost hit by a car on the edge road separating the woods and the town, which leaves him with a plethora of questions. Why was his son inside the woods? What was he doing outside school, considering the fact that the attack happened between six and seven, and working hours end at four?

He sighs and scrubs his face. It seems that he’s grown a few gray hairs over this. The only way he can get answers is for Bucky to wake up and start talking.

 

 

The morning is always cold these days, sometimes even nippy that it becomes intolerable. Steve has become used to it, though, and he doesn’t find it as irritating as he used to when he first occupied the cabin.

He washes his face with the water he left boiling inside the fireplace, and finally faces the broken mirror. The endless eyes looking back at him make him nauseous so he looks away, and finally vacates the confined space. Outside, he observes the mess he made, he knows he was out of line with that, but Bucky wouldn’t have believed his act otherwise. He goes to clean off the cream so it wouldn’t attract ants, and accidentally finds a folded paper that must have fallen from one of the bags Bucky brought with him. He is crouched when he opens the piece of paper and reads it silently.

[I want to overcome our past together, and I believe that what we’re starting to have is capable of making that possible. Happy New Year, Steve.]

He rakes his fingers through his hair and breathes out a heavy sigh. Thinking back on how dejected and broken Bucky had looked, saying those things might have not been the best thing to do. He went through so much trouble and the genuine look of sorrow on Bucky makes him regret the whole thing all the way to his bones. He crunches the paper and hugs it to his face. What has he done? Bucky didn’t deserve that, and he didn’t deserve to be chased out like some fucking beggar.

On the other hand, this is for the best.

 

Steve finished repairing a couple of antique chairs yesterday, and, now, he needs to take them out of the rented garage and return them today so he can get his wage. He has things he needs to buy: the jaws of his bear trap have started to dull, so he needs to renew it. The hook keeper of his fishing rod broke a couple of days ago. He needs a new wire for his rabbit snare.

He wears his coat and treks the direction he lead Bucky through the other time. With his hands in his side pockets, Steve finds it easy to dawdle and just behold the white coat covering the trees and the road. As he ventures farther into the woods, this nagging buzzing prompts him; he knows wild boars tend to become territorial during mating seasons, so the idea of some poor animal disemboweled by a raging sounder of hogs preparing to complete for breeding rights is not that far-fetched.  Indeed, just a few feet away, he finds puddles of blood huddled in one area: there obviously has been some sort of a struggle. He waves before his face to fend off the flies, and hurriedly scurries away.

 

He sells the first chair and receives money for it with gushing compliments the old man makes about the beautiful carvings on the backrest of the piece of furniture. Then he goes to sell the second and this old lady is quite chatty in her dealings, Steve only bears with it for the cash

“I’d have waited more, sweetheart.” She starts, “it’s dangerous now in those woods, a guy got mauled last night.”

That piques his curiosity and he finds himself glaring details from her.

“Like I said,” she says on a hum as she examines the repaired chair, “He was whisked to the hospital last night. Rumors have it that the young man was being chased, and I also heard he got mauled pretty badly by wild pigs. I keep telling them those boars will eventually kill someone, they’re becoming a damn epidemic.”

Steve doesn’t know any men who are crazy enough to be in those woods, especially with the threat of rampaging hogs still fresh, but he does know Bucky. He also knows that he kicked the man out around six or seven… The pieces fall together and Steve pales. The nausea hits him again and he doubles over, expelling the contents of his stomach. He ignores the way the old lady coos over him; he doesn’t trust people’s worry anymore. He waves it off as bad ingestion, and eventually takes his money and clears her way.

 

So Bucky was rushed to the hospital last night?

He stops in his tracks and glowers at the dirty road.

Does this mean the blood he saw earlier in the road was Bucky’s? Was he really attacked by boars, when he was warm inside the cabin, reading a fucking book, was Bucky being mauled to death?

His legs commence moving again, leading him to the only ER in town. He manages to charm info out of a petite nurse who guides him to room 34 in a different ward in which the only patient that fit his description is; apparently, ‘Bucky’ wasn’t really the man’s name. Bucky is really full of surprises. Steve nods to her when she tells him to take his time since visiting hours weren’t over until late in the afternoon. He walks in after peering inside and finding it clear of anyone other than the man sleeping on the bed.

Bucky’s head is tilted towards the other side, and there are a few scratches and cuts on his hands and face. His left arm is in a black sling and the entire left side of his collar is swathed in gauze. He looks pale that Steve can actually see the blue veins underneath his skin. Dark circles surround his eyes that it literally looks like bruising.

It was really Bucky the victim of the animal attack.

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

 

 

“Happy new year, bud!” Clint’s voice blares off the laptop Bucky’s father placed on the over-bed table, “Wish you a quick recovery first” –Bucky smiles fondly at that– “and to be happy and successful in all phases of life.”

“Thanks.” He tells him in his moderate voice, “I wish you the same and even more.”

“They’re letting me stay this late because it’s a special night, but the same rules still apply to everyone,” The father said to his son’s buddy, “So I’m going to have to go offline, we’ll talk more when I get there.”

“Okay,” Clint mumbles, “I’m sorry that I can’t be there; my boss is a bit bloody-headed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiles again despite the bruises and cuts scattered on his facial skin, all to reassure his friend. “We’ll talk later on the phone.”

He watches how his father closes the laptop with a click, and lifts his coat off the backrest of his chair.

“I should go now” he opines to his son, “I’ll see if they can discharge you soon.”

Bucky nods.

His father’s eyes linger on his before they narrow, like there’s something –a truth that he wishes to unravel. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

Bucky deciphers the hint and rolls his eyes, “Dad, I told you,” he whines, “I was jogging, and I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”

His father presses his lips together; that sounded a lot like a smarmy, unctuous reply, but he goes along with it and nods. He ruffles his son’s hair and finally leaves after turning the light off.

With his father finally gone from the room, Bucky’s head falls back on the pillow and he lets out a somnolent sigh. It’s exhausting when you have to tell a lie after a lie while trying to keep a straight face. He knows he shouldn’t have, especially not to his father, but it’s not like he can open with a ‘hey, you can’t guess who I met in the woods after four years; it’s the same guy who tortured and raped me for months’, who, also, kicked him out of the cabin on the premise to never show his mug again.

Bucky falls silent and still. The lines on his face quirk, and, soon, he’s scowling into the darkened room. He can sit up now without feeling the need to hurl his lungs out, so with his healthy hand, he peels off the quilt. He swings his legs outside the bed and gives himself a moment as the room started swirling in his vision, and then he shambles to the bathroom, wincing every time he moves wrong and agitates his wounds.

It seems that the boars’ tusks left him with quite the damage, almost popped his jugular open,but he was lucky they missed. It left his skin gashed though across his collar and neck, and the area around his elbow was crazed open as well. It looks ugly. He was told that the doctor managed to sew him up and that the surgery was a success.

He checks himself in the mirror and scowls again: there are raw bruises under his eyes, cuts and scratches over his faceand his knuckles that haven’t mended yet. His left arm is in a sling, dangling down his chest. There’s gauze wrapped around his chest and the side of his neck. He is, all in all, a huge fucking mess. He is glad, however, because besides the gashes on his arm and neck, he seems to have escaped fairly lightly. It’d have been worse, way worse.

He returns to his bed after he’s relieved himself, but unwanted thoughts start to swarm up in his head, reminding him of what had gone down a couple of nights ago before he was rushed to here.

He is going to think hard about this, and then he’ll decide what the best course of action should be.

 

 

“You sure you don’t want me to call anyone?”

Bucky shakes his head for the second time today as his father kept prepositioning he calls a caretaker or a nurse come and help out since his arm is, well, out of commission, but Bucky keeps declining. He jerks his hand from his grey jacket and nears the car his father is now stepping away from to hug his son.

“I’ll be fine, dad.” He assures the man.

“What about that music teacher who came to see you a couple ‘times?” There’s a playful smile on his lips which Bucky finds utterly outraging.

He rolls his eyes and can’t help but blow a chuckle, “for the second time, dad, she’s just a coworker.” He grumbles, “And she’s already keeping my dog with her, that’s plenty of help.”

“Alright.” The older man acquiesces on an assigned and tired nod.

“Tell Clint not to worry too much.”

His father wants nothing but to curl his face into an accusatory frown and force his say, but he knows Bucky hasn’t been having a lot of any say of his own in what happened, so he decides to give him the option to decline if he wanted. He doesn’t know if his best buddy –whom he knows is as overprotective as he is– would make the same concession, though. Well, he’ll have to suck it up. Bucky is a grown man.

“Take care of yourself, son.”  He says and finally yanks the door of the driver’s side open to get in.

Bucky keeps the amiable smile plastered on as he watches his father get into the vehicle and turn the ignition on. His father salutes him and then brings the car into motion as it slides away, rear lights flickering. Bucky feels the drop in temperature as the faint snow keeps falling, so he returns his hand back into the pocket of his insulated jacket and reels around, ready to walk back into the building.

“Bucky…”

Said man halts and whips around, finding Steve in one of the jackets he himself had brought before he was kicked out, top of his hair and shoulders covered in snow. He sends the man a perplexed scowl, and changes the position of his head so that now is half tilting.

Steve steps towards him in deliberately long and confident strides, he grinds to a stop when they’re a few inches apart. He takes in all of Bucky: His arm that is supposed to be hanging down his chest but now tucked under the jacket, the recovering bruises blighting his pale skin with purplish shades, and small cuts scattered under his cheek and the corner of his lovely lips.

“What,” Bucky snorts, but there’s no humor in his tone. “Here to finish the job?”

Steve hardens his glare, but remains silent and his silence translated as ‘apparently, I don’t have to’ since he’s beholding Bucky’s injuries with a pair of searching eyes.

Bucky swallows his irritation, or what’s left of it because it seem it has all dissipated the moment he heard the man’s voice. He deflates in on himself and sighs, “Whatever, dude” he said, “what do you want?”

“To talk” Steve deadpans.

Oh great. So now he wants to talk? Is there a point here being delivered that Bucky can’t see or what?

“About?” He demands.

“You gonna invite me in or what?” The blond rumbles in his deep voice.

How arrogant.

Bucky faces away for a second, regarding the fog-enveloped town, and then switching to look at the man, now ushering with his head for him to follow.

It really looks like their roles have been reversed.

 

For the second time, Steve finds himself seated in Bucky’s living room and surrounded by bouquets of flowers and colorful ‘get better soon’ balloons. There’s no sight of the puppy and Steve wonders about what came of the little dog, it’d actually sadden him if it turns out Bucky gave him up for adoption or something. He schools himself with admonishments to at least give the man the benefit of the doubt because he still recalls how persistent and almost resolute Bucky was about keeping the dog.

The said man had volunteered to make some tea despite his injury, and had refused any offers of assistance. Steve told him he didn’t want anything, just a glass of water, to which Bucky jeered at and hence the tea preparation.

A few minutes later, Bucky comes with a tray and two cups from which teabags are hanging. He puts everything on the coffee table between them and sits on the sofa across Steve. The latter lifts his cup and starts dipping the tea bag into the boiled water.

He remembers his trip to Orville Mountain with his departed father eleven years ago, what was really beautiful about the climb, aside from the scenery and the delight which follows the achievement of finally reaching the top, is the silence he could hear during the hike. This silence in the room right now kind of reminds him of that time.

“How’s the arm?” He asks after placing the cup back on the table.

Bucky has removed his jacket at the door very carefully but apparently Steve busted him wince a couple of times. Adding to that, Steve didn’t ask what happened, which tells the brunet he either knows or he simply doesn’t care. However, Steve asking if the arm is fine sparks the wheel of hope in him again. So maybe he does care a little, and Steve also must know about the boar attack since his father made sure to leave strict orders around for the boars to be put down, and the fact that he’s receiving get-well items from everyone he knows in this town. He shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “Good,” he said, “just a few scratches,” huge fucking understatement “should be fine in a few days.”

Steve rests his elbows on his thighs and twines his finger. He nods and still remains silent, wow, wasn’t he the one who said he wanted to talk? Why the hell is he making Bucky feel uncomfortable for it?

Bucky is obviously a lot weaker than he’s letting on, and with the busted arm and the words of ridicule still fresh in memory, Steve isn’t really sure anymore that coming here for the confession of his life was the wisest thing to do.

“Steve, look” the small, almost raspy voice surprises him and he finds himself looking up at the man on command. “I’ve been giving this some thought, and I want you to hear me out.” Serious thought, actually, and he lost sleep a couple of nights over this so he isn’t going to let the chance slip, it’s now or never. “Back at the hospital, I finally had time to think, and I realized I’ve been wrong.” He starts, his healthy hand fiddling with the bandage on his wounded arm. The rueful expression tenderizes and his brows tremble, “I should’ve listened to you when we met again after four years and you told me to go back. I should have turned around and left.” His voice falls even fainter, “I was the one who went back against your warning, that’s why –” he lets his hand fall to his lap. This is it. He’s going to get it off his chest. “That’s why none of this is your fault.”

Steve wants to cut the man off, tell him to stop because this isn’t what he’s been planning to make the man admit, isn’t the kind of reaction he wished to elicit from him, but the wave of genuine distress emanating from the brown-haired still takes him by surprise.

“Even what happened four years ago” Bucky feels the lids of his eyes burn as tears start to well up, “that wasn’t your fault, Steve.”

The man’s jaw goes slack.

“You were a victim, too.” He insists, “You were being manipulated and we were ambushed, Pepper is to blame for all of this.”

Then they fall –his tears…

Steve watches how Bucky’s lips tremble as more tears stream down his battered face.

“I’m no different from her,” he suddenly sobs, the kind of sob that gets punched out of the lungs after piling your sadness for too long. “Although you isolated yourself, I kept going back, making you re-live the nightmares and the things you wished to forget.” He snivels with more tears spilling from his almond-shaped blue eyes. “I never realized that by making you sleep with me, you were hurting.” He lowers his head now in a poor attempt to hide the plentiful tears landing on his lap. “I’ve been hurting you this whole time.”

Steve’s mind is completely blank by this point yet his sense of unease grows. He’s been planning to get down on his hands and knees and bawl his sorry. Heck, he’s been ready to receive rejection no matter how it comes, but the things he’s been preparing to say ever since he decided to confess to Bucky are all gone now. The sight of Bucky blaming himself and crying for his sake and saying the most unassuming things… just how good-hearted is he going to continue to be? Steve can’t fall any deeper, God damn.

Bucky’s sniffs and sobs finally start to ebb bit by bit. He takes in a deep shaky breath and looks up, now letting out a huge sigh. “That’s why, um, I know it’s not gonna be easy, but I’ve decided to not go back to the cabin.”

Steve’s face draws into a deep frown again, his stomach somersaulting inside at the news.

“I don’t want to hurt you again.” Bucky swipes at his nose with the back of his sleeve, and sniffles. “It’s just… it’s hard, you know, seeing you and Clint move on while I’m the only one still stuck in the past.” He smiles sadly like he’s dismissing everything that has happened till now and, that in its own, wipes half of his life. “But it’s fine, I’ll learn how to move on, and staying in this town will help.” He said, and added, “Besides, I like it here.”

Steve slowly lowers his head, thinking that’s the end of Bucky’s tirade, it isn’t.

“These cuts can’t possibly hurt like how your heart is hurting,” tears were announcing another war again that Bucky needed to overcome, and remembering the times he caused the man unnecessary heartache makes him lose the battle. “I’m sorry.” He weeps, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have imposed, shouldn’t have invaded your privacy and I apologize for that.”

Steve waits, but Bucky’s sobs don’t come to an end.

“Bucky,” he starts with a tone of final resolution. “Every time we had sex, you’d nibble at the back of your hand.” He said, “You ever noticed?”

Bucky scowls in bare confusion.

Steve lifts up, all decided, and sits gently besides Bucky. He faces the man and switches to look from his eyes to his lips, “wanna kiss?”

“I did not say all that to get your pity.” Bucky said, defiantly.

Steve chews on his bottom lip, which trembles nonetheless. He looks fleetingly down, allowing his tears to break free –something he hasn’t done in years. “Forgive me, Buck.”

Bucky finally deciphers the meaning. The kiss offer was probably a goodbye present; well, he did say he wasn’t planning on returning to the cabin again. He never thought it out, but this certainly hurts. He doesn’t want to part from this man, it’s utterly illogic. He shouldn’t be feeling the way he’s feeling after being used and tossed, but he is. His shoulders rock as he cries again, torrents of tears showing no sign of stopping.

Steve rests their foreheads together and cries, too, albeit silently.

Bucky nods because, despite the cruelty of it, he’ll grow used to his decision some day, and he smiles benignly because, unlike their first separation, he is glad he and Steve will part ways without grudges. “Okay, okay” he breathes out, “Life is too big, Steve, and we’re too small. Let’s not waste what we’ve left to live on the past.”

Steve licks his lips and remains still, his eyes now slowly parting open to hold contact with Bucky’s.

“It’s ironic, silly and even stupid,” Bucky says through a beam that is filled with nothing but pure compassion, “But it seems I’m lovelorn.”

Steve feels as though something just unleashed a swarm of butterflies inside his stomach, he can’t even hear the tick-tock of the plain wall clock inside Bucky’s living room anymore. His pupils roam in Bucky’s, staring into the burst of feelings making the man’s eyes glint like the Sirius before dusk.

“I love you, Steve Rogers” With every inch of his battered soul…

Just one more time and Steve will develop fucking asthma because his breath is taken away. The way Bucky’s silvery voice utters the words he’s never imagined someone would tell him at his face; much less Bucky himself –the man he’s been planning to confess to but knowing their past has caused him to bail from. He feels his brows tremble and meet across his forehead, and, for a moment, he closes his eyes before he loses himself in Bucky’s eyes.

Like some emotionally-constipated asshole, he’s always evaded having to expound on unnecessary details and parts of himself, and it causes him a slight twinge of irritation when he has to succumb to heart-to-hearts and just deal with all the fucking _words_. He forces himself to speak though because he owes Bucky that much.

“For four fucking years… I’ve been trying to get you out of my head.”

Bucky tries to make out Steve’s face through his blurred vision, but all he sees is the man’s outline. The expressed words make him dizzy, and he holds off all motions because Steve better not be joking.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I wished you were dead, because that way I wouldn’t be able to hurt you if we ever met again.” He said, now pressing his lips to hold off his own tears. “I’m scared, Bucky. Every time I try to do something good, it just backfires.”

Bucky breathes but remains attentive to the words he never, ever, imagined he’d hear, from Steve.

“I’ve done horrible things to people; hypnosis or not, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve ended lives, your friends’ included.” He sighs shakily, like a fucking kid tired of wailing. “But for some reason, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I tried for years, trust me; you’re just always there.”

Bucky brings his hand to Steve’s cheek and cups it, and he feels the way Steve immediately relaxes at the contact. “I won’t forgive you if you’re saying this because you’re feeling sorry.”

Steve’s eyes snap open, “God, no.” He seethes, “I don’t care about nightmares or guilt anymore” he says and scoots a little closer, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Buck. I’ll go crazy if you disappear again.”

“That should be my line, you bastard.” Bucky chuckles despite the huskiness in his voice from all that crying.

Steve permits the smile that tugs next at his lips, and then frowns again. “Us being together is going to bring stuff up, stuff we’re still trying so hard to forget about.” He said, “It might become unbearable, and sad and lonely.”

But Bucky is already shaking his head, “Don’t care,” he said, now framing the side of Steve’s neck, “not after I got you to say the magic words.”

“That was you.”

“You’re the one who’ll go crazy if I disappear,” Bucky teased, now resting their foreheads together, just staying like that, etching the memory into his head and absorbing its legitimacy. He talks again only when he is ready to move on. “By the way, what was that about my habit during sex?”

Against himself, Steve smiles like a man drunk in love. “Wanna try kissing?”

Bucky’s playful smile falls, and is suddenly overtaken by a mad rush and pure arousal. He leans in, keeping his forehead pressed against Steve’s, and says quietly, “yeah, I do.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, breathlessly. He still shifts a little to a more comfortable position. “How badly?”

Bucky feels Steve’s breath on his lips that almost sets his moan free. “So fucking bad.”

In a moment so slow, carefully so, Steve leans forward that final inch and presses his mouth against Bucky’s –it’s electrifying. He feels the way Bucky melts. The way Bucky’s hand is threading through his hair is fucking amazing. He seizes the chance to apply everything he’s learned in his fantasies on Bucky, pressing and sucking and biting, and Bucky is soon unable to stifle the lewd moans.

He pulls away just a bit, to see if Bucky wants this to go on, and the crease across the man’s forehead, and the swollen lips and the drugged look in his eyes makes Steve rejoice and smirk. He connects their lips again. Bucky devours his mouth like it’d cause him physical pain if they pull away and Steve agrees wholeheartedly. He rests a hand on Bucky’s knee, parting it from its twin, the other goes to his cheek, just palming the flushed skin.

“Steve…” Bucky moans with bated breath.

Steve mumbles a fervent ‘your tongue’ and it’s all Bucky needs to hear to part his lips, Steve plunges his tongue inside the man’s mouth and flaps it on Bucky’s, enjoying the soft noises he makes. He moves that hand he has on Bucky’s cheek to the side of his bandaged neck, and accidently presses on the wound that Bucky can’t help but let out a prolonged whimper. Steve’s cock throbs at the sound and he lifts up a little to grind against Bucky’s bulge, pushing his leg farther apart.

Bucky’s head becomes faint and he fans back on the headrest of the couch they’re sitting on, he appreciates the break Steve gives his lungs after pulling from the kiss, making his chest heave as he gasps shallowly. His slightly opened eyes allow more tears free. Steve licks his upper lip, swallowing his and Bucky’s drool. He allows him only a moment’s leeway before he eats up his lips greedily again, grinding against the man’s cock protected by the fabric of his jeans.

“Umm...” Bucky mewls into the kiss, silently begging for some relief as he slides his hand to the button of his jeans, fiddling with it fanatically.

Steve smacks his hand away so he can roughly snake his hand down and unbutton it himself, but keeps his mouth on Bucky’s. He unzips the chain and unfurls the waistband of Bucky’s boxers, and his cock springs free, covered in precum that has already left darkened spots on the crotch area of his jeans. Bucky also works Steve’s jeans open and takes out the angry-looking cock in his hand, sighing into the kiss at the sensation. Steve interrupts the kiss to press their foreheads against each other again and looks down through the little space between their chests, blowing out hot breath on Bucky’s lips.

Bucky looks up at the man topping him with bleary, watery eyes and the way the blond grunts hotly makes his cock spill more precum. Their wet breaths mix and their sighs are then overtaken by the slippery sound their cocks make at the first touch.

“Steve…” Bucky keens, urgently.

Apparently, Steve gets it, and so he rubs their cocks together.

They both start making audible noises, Steve grunts and Bucky moans sweetly. He clings to the man with his healthy hand, desperate and shaking and Steve can’t find it in him at the moment to murmur soft assurances because he’s rooting for another sound of pain. He’s weird in the head and he knows that without anyone having to voice it out for him, but he hopes Bucky won’t deny him this. To attest that, he wraps a hand on Bucky’s neck and squeezes a little, the man chokes at that, dreading it for a second as he glares up at him with something akin to shock. Steve stops, affectively attempting to pull his hand away but Bucky is soon aborting the action.

“It’s okay” Bucky figures what Steve was doing, and although it freaks him out a little bit, he eventually marvels at the fact that he has no qualms with getting chocked by Steve, God, only Steve. “Fuck…. I want it.”

Steve delights inwardly and squeezes his clasp on the already injured neck, enjoying the choked off and pained noises Bucky is making, the moans as well because Steve hasn’t forgotten to rub their cocks together. The slick and wet sounds turn Bucky on more than anything else.

Something warm seeps into Steve’s hand, he looks down from the ecstasy and the absolute rapture, at the blood soaking the gauze. He eyes Bucky’s face overtaken by utter bliss and decides not to stop. Bucky is fucking sexy like this: covered in precum and blood and sweat… Steve will pinch himself later to make sure this isn’t just another fantasy, but for now he’ll swallow the sight in and relish every angle of it.

 

Not long and they’re both coming, and while Steve reigns in the stifled moan, Bucky all but whimpers wantonly.

He sits up properly and unclasps his hand from Bucky’s neck, and falls in awe at the sight of crimson staining his palm. His eyes flit to Bucky’s neck and the mess he created. Said man props his head up, bleary eyes falling on his.

He grunts at first, “There’s that look on your face again”

Steve nibbles at his bottom lip and lowers his head, “I should’ve had more self-restraint.”

“You’re a real idiot, anyone told you that before?” Bucky wonders.

“You look more the type.” He counters, “answer is no.”

Bucky half smirks, “Listen” he starts, now sitting up as well while cupping the side of his neck. “If I didn’t want it, I’d have punched your guts.”

“I can’t promise it’s gonna stop” Steve warned with a faint voice.

Bucky looks apologetic, “how silly” he said, “who said anything about me wanting it to stop.”

Steve’s lips parts open, “You really mean it?”

Bucky presses his lips together and shrugs, “guess we’re both weird in the head.”

Steve scoffs and looks down for a moment, “You’re the real idiot.”

Bucky kicks him slightly, “and in need of your surgical skills, doc” he drawls, “You reopened my stitches, you bastard.”

For the first time, Steve doesn’t really feel insulted.

 

Steve had just finished taping the bandage across Bucky’s shoulder and neck when someone knocked on the latter’s door. They both prompt up and stare at each other before Bucky slumps with a brazen roll of his blue eyes.

“It must be Sharon, the music teacher at the school I work at.” He informs, now struggling to rise up. He feels secretly grateful when Steve reaches over and winds his arm around his back to help him up. “I kept the dog at hers, now she’s probably here to give him back.”

It’s a good thing Steve had the good grace in him to clean him before he commenced the stitching up, otherwise he’d have had to explain things the sweet music teacher never thought possible.

“Man, I’m not ready for this” he starts a litany of mumbles to himself as his eyes dart to the doorway.

Steve falls silent as he takes in the other man’s change in demeanor. He’s not as in tune so it takes him a moment but he manages to put the pieces together as to what is exactly getting Bucky so worked up.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Bucky twirls his way with a look of distinct shock, “What, no!” He denies, almost too quickly. “I mean she did confess a couple’ days ago but I still haven’t given her any answer.”

“Want me to head her off?”

“No, don’t.” He lifts his good arm to ward off the offer –the very tempting offer. Last thing he needed was dealing with troublesome feelings, and although he appreciates her and her lovely feelings, he thinks it’s troublesome if it isn’t his mess to clean up. He isn’t saying she’s the problem, obviously he’s the one with a problem here, but she’s in the wrong place and wrong time. “She might want to come in, though, so brace yourself.”

Steve arches his bows slightly in a manner that suggests he isn’t looking forward to it. He also watches how Bucky returns the sling around his back and leads himself to the main direction of the front door.

 

Bucky peers through the peephole and finds Sharon dressed in a floral coat and holding the puppy to her chest. He cringes. He absolutely has no idea how he can send her back without sounding like an asshole or downright condescending. He opens the door and she meets his grimace with a smile.

“Hey, Miss. Carter” he greets, faintly.

“We already talked about that habit of yours” She says on a lively grin, “it’s Sharon, and hey” she greets back, now showing him the squirming puppy. “Gosh, he’s so excited to see you.”

Bucky takes him from her and hoists him up over his good shoulder, and the puppy starts licking up his face and barking huskily.

“He was getting restless so I decided to bring him back to you,” she informs, “How’re you feeling, by the way?”

Bucky nods tiredly so she can pick up on the fatigue making him stand hunched, she probably does because next thing she’s frowning with worry.

“Are you sure?” she inquires, “not to be rude but you really don’t look good.”

He doesn’t feel good either, to be honest. During the time Steve was stitching up the gash on his neck, he took antibiotics and those kick in really fast and make him dizzy and nauseous. And not to mention the blood he’s lost after the fucker Steve reopened his stitches. He picks the puppy from his middle, and gently flings him to the floor before he’d topple and empty his stomach on that beautiful golden fur, and he groans as the floor and the door spin in his vision.

The lady’s hands are soon rushing to keep him up, but another pair of novel hands beat her to Bucky’s middle and the man is soon lifted up by Steve. She boggles at him because, obviously, he’s just ruined her chance to be helpful, and she frowns.

“Who’re you?”

He pays her no mind as pinches Bucky’s chin up so their eyes can meet, and the glazed pupils tell him that if he draws the support away, Bucky will not even care about sleeping beside the front door, on the floor. He hears the music teacher babbling on about something and it’s fucking annoying, without meaning to, he whips his face to her direction with a scathing glare that makes her flinch. Go for polite, he tells himself even though all he wants to do is cut her jugular for plotting to weave her cobs on what’s his –it’s pure, unadulterated jealousy. “Thanks for bringing Snowie home. Do you need something?”

She cautiously shakes her head, keeping the look in her eyes wide and wary. Something about the strange man made the hairs in her nape stand, and it’s deterring.

“Alright, then” he tells her, now getting a hold of the door handle with his other hand, “Goodbye.” He slams the door shut and doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt about it. He only wakes up from his reverie when Bucky goes limp in his arms.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I deleted this by accident, and all the changes that I made are lost now (because I usually edit after copy-pasting the formatted text to the box.) Anyway, I'll try to tweak it a little bit but I apologize for all the mistakes.

 

 

“Mm…” Bucky moans into Steve’s mouth. He’s spread naked on Steve’s bed, there’s still gauze wrapped around his neck and around his left upper arm. He squirms, rolling his hips and causing the semen Steve’s cock spurted inside him to spill out.

Steve presses his mouth harder against Bucky’s plush lips, causing the man another shudder. When he pulls away, still propped on his elbow and looking down at the dazed man, he smirks. “You really like kissing.”

Bucky shakes himself out of his daze and registers the blush on his cheek, “What of it.”

Steve shrugs a shoulder, “Just saying”

Bucky’s glinting eyes take in all of the other man’s face, bare hunger and love in his own. He stares at his cherry red lips as though they’d weave a spell to enchant him, and he guesses the deep kisses are the enchantment.

Steve’s eyes flick from Bucky’s to his up-curled lips. The cuts have almost healed and the formerly-pronounced bruising is just a shade of fading colors now, they’re only visible in the waning or sunlight. Bucky is slowly regaining color in his face again which is a relief. His eyes always glint and Steve slowly feels like he’s being hypnotized… something close to fury flares up in his dark stare and he glowers, and it immediately scares Bucky.

“What?”

Shit, will he ever get over the past and over the fact that he was hypnotized –he wants the word to hold only positive connotations from now on.

Bucky knows how good the other man is at dissembling, more than he is, but the fact that he’s just outright shown his… whatever the hell that was that doesn’t tally with his own, it’s just unsettling. So he has no idea what he is thinking. And how much he’s hiding is really beyond him.

“Steve,” Bucky palms his cheek; so being confrontational it is. “What’s wrong?”

Steve shakes his head and leans down, hiding his face between Bucky’s shoulder and cheek. It makes the latter soften with a chuckle, permissible peace curving his lips; he allows the embrace nonetheless, hugging the man with his bandaged arm.

The buzzing of a phone brings the moment to a stop, and Steve pulls away to sleep on his own pillow after he tucks it against the headboard while Bucky forages through the covers for the annoying phone. He finally finds it and his eyes widen at the caller’s ID on the screen.

“Shit,” he grits out, “it’s Clint.”

Steve supports the back of his head on his hand and looks up at the other’s horror-stricken face. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

Bucky’s tongue snakes out ardently and he pins Steve with a vague look before finally connecting the call, “Clint, hey, buddy.” He listens in, and speaks again after rolling his eyes. “Okay, just wait for me. I’ll be there in a few.” He disconnects the call and lets out an unendurable sigh. “He’s unbelievable, dropping by without a prior notice.”

Steve furrows his thick brows but doesn’t comment.

Bucky returns his gaze on Steve’s, hoping to gauge a reaction but alas, Steve wasn’t changing his poker face. He flings the phone somewhere on the bed and slides out from the warm cover with consummate elegance, naked ass swinging in the air with cum trickling down his inner thighs, and he straddles Steve –knees on either side of the blond man’s hips, an arm braced by his shoulder and the other hugged to his chest since he can’t lean on it yet. He takes his tongue a little out from the corner of his lips and bites on it, grinning mischievously.

Steve’s smirk is ferial at the liberal and open sprinkling of playful naughtiness, and enjoys the drama interlude as Bucky rolls his ass, making sure their cocks rub.

“Waiting more won’t kill him” he tells his man, “you think you can make me cum in twenty?”

“I can make you cum in far less.” Steve drones sexily, “your stamina is a joke.”

“Hey, now” He admonishes, “New sexual conquests excite me.” He intones in reproach, now licking a trail along Steve’s bulky neck up to his earlobe and making him sigh softly. “Just the thought of your cock inside my ass makes me so fucking wet.”

Steve feels a shudder run through him soon as the whispered words fall on his ear, breathless and rushed, and he immediately immobilizes Bucky by the hip with a hand and the other goes to the puffy entrance slicked by cum. “When did you become such a massive pussy?”

“How about you shut your trap and fuck that pussy?”

Steve ignores the ridiculous pun and pushes three fingers inside at once that Bucky can’t put off the gasp and the arch of his back.

“So suddenly…” he grumbles but still moans.

He levels Bucky with an irritatingly simpering look, “Could have fooled me.”

The wet squelching Steve is causing by thrusting his fingers in and out make Bucky blush all the way to his nape. He palms his hand out on Steve's marble sternum. He doesn't last long, however, his arm starts to tire and tremble and he topples over the muscled chest and the jutting abs with a charming whimper.

Steve smiles to himself at the action and actually exults at the idea of having Bucky trembling and hot with just a touch of his fingers, it’s also very worrisome. He can’t imagine Bucky with someone else, and what’s more, he can’t imagine him hot and trembling under anyone’s touch but his and he fucking signed up for it –

“Steve!” The man, who’s been moaning and sucking on a mole between the blond man’s dibs, suddenly interrupts his dark musings, propping up on his healthy arm again. “That’s enough” he keens, “just… hurry.”

Steve catches sight of the swollen cock that looks one tweak away from bursting.

Bucky is still that man whom he hunted four years ago who could reduce his narcissistic egocentricity, which couldn’t even define love at the time, to passion and desire tinged with obsession. The gangly man whose fiery eyes used to make something in him tremble and tingle, whose persistence always broke through his merciless exterior and the depths of his depravity. But right now, he isn’t. He’s just the man Steve wants to ask for forgiveness and not sound defeated. The man he wants to make love to and not look weak and whom he wants to spend the rest of his life with and not be judged.

They’d –he’d tried to push his luck and tried talking Bucky into sucking him off; it was always a sight to behold. Bucky refused out flat, justifying it with his need to adapt because he still remembers the times he used to get beaten into it, which brings up the many times Steve had fucked him into submission. Steve will give him the time he needs, and for now, he will be more than satisfied fucking Bucky with the latter shagging on his lap.

He yanks his fingers out and drinks in the sight of Bucky mewling in a sweet aching sound and ejaculating over their stomachs. He chuckles again and gives the man’s cock a few strokes, milking whatever left, and as he parts his lips to talk, Bucky’s hand clasps over them.

“Don’t.” He warns, panting very deeply. “Don’t you dare.”

Steve parts his lips anyway and licks Bucky’s fingers, “was just gonna say that was hot.”

Bucky’s alluring eyes land on Steve’s, and the way he pouts matches the temptation in his eyes it’s ridiculous. This makes it the second time this morning Steve says something corny, he figured it was a one-off but, apparently, Steve is starting to grow this into a habit. He isn’t saying he isn’t a fan, but didn’t Steve just chuckle? Which really doesn’t fall under the same heading; the guy was making fun of his stupid stamina again.

He’s going to make him regret the whole thing.

All it takes is Bucky scraping his teeth along the edge of Steve’s bearded jaw and moan against the skin of his neck and the man’s cock hops hard angling to drill inside Bucky’s ass. He aligns it with Bucky’s entrance and, very slowly, pushes it in. He frames the man’s ass cheeks and kneads and gropes tightly, making Bucky unable to control his whines. Steve starts moving his hips, thrusting up into the hot wetness that makes him groan in satisfaction; this is simply the fucking best.

“Ah, aah” Bucky is moaning atop him with his eyes looking glossy. “Yeah, oh fuck, yes…”

Steve licks his upper lip; so far, this is satisfying. He’s always loved a little pain in it, though. He grabs Bucky’s injured arm and pulls it to him, making Bucky cry out. Thing is, the gash on Bucky upper arm extends all the way to his forearm, a little below the nook area, so, because of the stitches, he can’t stretch it. Steve pulling his arm like this must feel really, really painful.

Bucky hardens his glare down at the man relishing his pain and clutches at his neck, wrapping his fingers around it and pushing those veins back in.

To punish him, Steve snaps his hips and thrusts even deeper until all of his cock is buried inside Bucky’s ass.

Bucky tightens his grip on the neck and whimpers, “So deep!” he howls, endearingly. Steve snaps his hips again and thrusts into him faster and deeper each time, making their balls slap. Bucky tries to toss his head to the back but the stitches on his neck forfeit the action and he whimpers with tears spilling down his cheeks. He can feel Steve sighing excitedly beneath him at the whole thing. He doesn’t forget to keep his grip around the man’s neck tight as he bucks up against the cock drilling inside his ass. “Oh, God!” Bucky’s eyes widen, as though in renewed realization, “More, Steve, fuck me more.”

Steve hisses and releases the injured arm, groping Bucky’s ass cheeks instead. “Just remember,” he breathes out, “you asked for it.”

Bucky moans in anticipation alone, he knows what’s going to follow.

Steve holds Bucky’s ass in the perfect angle, and then he snaps his hips again, faster and deeper that the wet slaps sound so hollow. And he doesn’t fucking stop.

“Ah!” Bucky cries out, “Ah! Oh, God, yes! That’s it, right there, Steve. Just like that, mmm….”

Steve follows the coaching to the word. “You like that, huh?” he urges, tone fervent.

“Love it,” Bucky moans, “love it when you fuck me so hard like this, makes me go crazy for your dick.”

Literally too, it seems.  Steve muses on a smirk.

He loves Bucky’s new habit of wrapping his arm around his neck and pressing his nose against his cheek, he loves it to the bone. Bucky’s breath falls hard on his jaw every time he gasps and moans and even grunts. Steve manages to keep this up longer enough for Bucky’s cock to cum again before he’s also sending his cum inside the man, soaking his ass and inner thighs.

They both cling to each other, hugging and riding out the intense afterglow.

They’re slowly sinking back under the covers when the sound of the phone’s vibrations goes off –muffled by the covers– and followed by the spectacular scattering noise that suggests the phone has just fallen from the bed and onto the ground. It startles the puppy who was napping by the fireplace.

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip and sighs, “I’m gonna kill him”

Steve chuckles and motions with his head, “you should go.”

“I know,” Bucky says, faintly. He props up a little, and scans the inside of the cabin. “Don’t want to, though.”

“Don’t want you to, either.” Steve is fast to admit, and that serious expression ups Bucky to leave the bed entirely because he’s weak to temptation and he can’t risk leaving his friend in the street.

Steve watches as Bucky walks towards the bathroom with the cum, which he spurted inside him, dripping down his thighs. The sight alone makes him half hard again. Bucky disappears inside the bathroom to obviously wash up, and the sound of water splashing asserts his prediction.

He does remember Clint, the puppy-eyed with the gummy grin whom he ordered to be locked and looked after by Tony, and he doesn’t remember interacting with him much either. He’s glad. There’s something more than remorse and nightmares in his statement. There’s relief. He doesn’t carry memories of doing Bucky’s friend harm so the fact that he can look the man in the eyes and feel the guilt he carries towards  _him_ the only thing creating turmoil is really consoling.

But with Clint here, Bucky might not have a chance to come see him, and neither will he. He hangs his hope on the thought that maybe the guy isn’t going to spend long in this town, and he and Bucky will continue to see each other again. The pinched expression that must be tugging at his face now is the sign of his inner fears; Bucky accepted this life in the shadows, with him. To take a leap like that and toss himself into the unknown and leave much of his life behind… it’s a death sentence. He knows that as long as he’s with him, Bucky could never have normal.

Bucky exits the bathroom and shifts around for his clothes which they’d torn off each other in their haste to get to the bed last night. He starts putting them on and ignores the deep stare concentrating on his every move, eating him up and making his fingers tremble and fail to button his jeans.

“What’re you doing, you bastard” –he looks charmingly at the other– “planning to peel off my clothes with just your eyes?”

“You have any objections?”

“I don’t think it works, you lil’ piece of shit.” Bucky bites his tongue and grins. “Try something else.” Saying so, he palms his bulge and licks his upper lip suggestively.

It takes all in Steve’s power not to bolt from the bed and lurch forward to pin Bucky down to the floor and fuck his brains out.

“Your friend just called again.” He grumbles. “So go to him, and get the fuck out of my place.”

Bucky puts the jacket on next and ruffles his hair, tucking the long side fringes behind his ear from one side. Then, he walks up to the bed to collect his phone from the ground. He hides the cock-blocking contraption in his pocket and approaches Steve’s side. “I’m gonna miss your dick.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head, “going to miss your ass” he counters, “you going to put any dildos in there if it gets lonely?”

Bucky leans in, the playful look over his face changing and falling into a frown, like he wants to cry and wail his eyes out. Then he cups Steve’s cheek. “Only you, Steve” he whispers, “toy or not, game or not, it’ll always be just you.”

See?

He’s breaking through Steve’s façade again, saying the corniest crap…

He pulls Bucky down for a heated kiss and doesn’t pull away until the other keens for some air. He beholds his dazed face and swollen lips, and again, all he wants to do is pull the man to his bed again.

“Go now.”

Bucky smiles sheepishly and nods, “see ya.” He waves over his shoulder and walks up to the front, and he doesn’t vacate the cabin until he’s slipped his feet into his boots and blew a kiss to Steve, who threw a pillow at him.

Steve shakes his head on a fading smile, he sits up and looks towards the fireplace where Snowie is sprawled on the chair pad.

Bucky is still smiling and it somehow overcomes the cold that enwraps him.

This, whatever it is they’ve etched like footprints on snow, might be gone with the upcoming change in the air. None of them can tell for how long this could last for them, this burning passion that is, despite everything, still aflame. It’s supposed to be comforting; they do take comfort in the passionate nights they share tangled together, tasting and melting in each other… but it’s hard to push away doubts when their rival is their past.

The past is part of their present together, but there’s always that wishful thinking that with enough good memories, the shadows haunting them will be overwritten or just… go away. So far, it hasn’t happened. The words ‘may’ and ‘someday’ become more comforting than those passionate nights.

More than the past, there’s the world; biggest thing threatening their small sphere, which consists of just the two of them, to be forced under the lights and condemned. It’s easy for the other party to point accusatory fingers and return a verdict of ‘guilty’ because the two of them and what they have are beyond understanding… unsavorily disreputable when it simply just can’t be labeled. But it’s hard to be accepted.

Neither of them acknowledges the perpetually lingering darkness they have to wallow in and hide under, but they both know it’s far more merciful than the world could ever be.

What offers consolation, however, in the cold and dark abyssal depths of this pit are the gentle touches and radiating smiles and the whispered assurances they give each other in their nightly privacy.

With that in mind, they know the next wait is going to be so worth it…

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

 

Bucky looks up at the sky layered with a chaotic array of puffy, marigold red clouds. He feels heat with the first lick of summer being provided to him by the sun slowly sinking beyond the horizon; sunsets are the best thing this town has to offer. His lips twitch a little into a faint smile before he parts them to blow a breath, but since the temperature has been rising lately, the vapor is not quite visible.

He’s been at the same café he usually frequents at to finish a book or cross words to pass the time, merely in an attempt to escape routine or insistent thoughts of what tomorrow may bring.

This marks the fourth month since he reunited with Steve, and he can’t believe it, but they’ve been very intimate ever since. He spends most of his weekends at Steve’s, and when it’s a holiday, Steve takes the initiative to drop by his place. They haven’t been able to talk about any plans of going outside town. There haven’t been any talks of plans period. Steve is too anxious to face the outside world and Bucky doesn’t want to force him into it. It hasn’t even been a year so he is biting down on his knuckles and bearing with it for the man’s sake. However, it’s starting to smother him.

Bucky likes to think of himself as a bird. He doesn’t like to be confined to one place, and although this town has a lot of things he is comfortable with, it is still stifling to not have any change of airs.

Okay, here’s the thing: A few weeks ago,  _way_ after Clint left unable to deal with the flashbacks, Bucky rode the borrowed bike to Steve’s cabin but didn’t find the man. He found a note, though, addressed to him with a blunt text that read [I’m going away for a few. Don’t bother coming back next weekend.]. That was the drop that spilled the cup and heralded this series of compulsory freedom seeking ideas. It wasn’t impulsive. He didn’t just wake up one day and started arguing about wanting to leave town for a few days. But he’d been bringing it up to Steve even prior to his sudden departure, he had been dropping hints.

Bucky followed the note to the word and didn’t appear at Steve’s place last weekend, but guess what, he isn’t going to even today. It’s Friday and it’s usually the day Bucky gets his things and heads to Steve’s. Not this time. Steve needs to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around him, and if he wishes to treat Bucky like a robot on auto mode that would do all his bidding, then he has another thing coming.

Bucky isn’t so fickle, and although he loves Steve, he isn’t going to indulge each and every whim of his.

 

He fumbles with the keys to his apartment, opens its door and enters. Snowie, bigger and covered in whitish golden fur, comes rushing to him with his tongue lolling sideways and his tail wagging happily. Bucky ruffles his mane and straightens up to take off his sneakers. He lumbers towards the living room with his eyes opened to masts. He is worn out and, more than a trip outside town right now, he would love a back massage. He drops on the sofa and tosses the keys on the coffee table.

Actually, there’s something else that is constantly nagging at him: Last Friday also marked Steve’s birthday which is something he had dug out from the precinct. It was illegal, but his father’s name and a slew of excuses had managed to get a yellow folder open before him and a tap on the shoulder to please hurry it up before I lose my fucking job. Bucky had wanted to make use of the info and spend the night with Steve somewhere far away from town. It came as a blow to the guts when Steve upped and left without leaving coordinates of his whereabouts behind for Bucky to retrace.

Bucky has looked at this from every angle alright, and the only thing that he came up with is the long standing fact that Steve can’t and  _won’t_  trust him.

 

Dismissing the disheartening thought, Bucky levers up with a groan and heads to the kitchen. He takes out a bowl of last night’s cheese spaghetti from the fridge and slips it inside the microwave. As he waits for the leftovers to be reheated, a knock on the door brings him out of his musings.

Snowie rushes to the front door, barking excitedly and he only does that when Steve is behind that door. Bucky scrubs a hand over his face and sighs, “I’m coming!” he shouts, wearily.

 

And, long behold, Steve, dressed in a woolen coat and bleached jeans, smirks after Bucky yanks the door open. Snowie slides between Bucky and the wall and leaps at Steve who crouches down to rub his furry, dangling ears.

“Hey, buddy,” he intones. “Here’s one looking happy to see me.”

Bucky breathes out through his nose at the insinuation aimed at him and crosses his arms over his chest, “What’re you doing here, man?” the reiteration of that question is becoming so annoying by now.

Steve’s smirk starts to gradually grow fainter as he lifts up. “Why do you look so cross?”

Bucky dares to pinch a brow at the absurdity of the question, and he opens his mouth to say something but the timer of the microwave beeps and hinders his effort. He rolls his eyes and walks back inside, leaving the door open. He rushes to the kitchen to take his dinner out.

Steve ushers to dog to follow in as he also enters and closes the door behind him. He usually removes whatever he’s donned over his sweater or Henley before making his way to the living room, but he has this inkling that today it’ll be wiser if he doesn’t.

 

Bucky is stumped. He doesn’t know why he didn’t punch Steve across his throat the moment he made it look like it was just Bucky blowing things out of proportion like some over jealous wife, when they both know Steve vanishing off-radar always sent Bucky to turmoil of emotions of fear, worry and anxiety. It’s his fault, all of it. Why should Bucky get ammunition for something he absolutely has the right to, like getting pissed!

He opens the microwave’s lid to take out the bowl, but he doesn’t count on finding it hot and it ends up falling from his fingers and clattering on the floor, cheese and spaghetti spilling and smearing the panel. He hisses an expletive as though it was the bowl that placed itself in the microwave to burn his hand and so it deserved the cussing.

“Here, let me see.” Steve is at his side in a blink.

Bucky holds off all motions and watches with vague wonder how Steve takes the burned fingers gently in his hands for a better examination.

“Do you have any butter, or eggs?” he suddenly asks.

Bucky wrenches his hands from the other’s, “why, we making an omelet?” he sneers, “I’m fine. I’ll just ice it.”

Steve stands bridled at the way Bucky yanked his hands from him, but eventually squares his shoulders and rolls his chin, action firm. “Might give you frostbite, especially with your skin sensitive like that.”

“Why do you care, anyway?” Bucky rears up, face crunched in distaste.

“You PMSing, or what?” Steve glowers, “Why are you being such a bitch?”

Bucky’s been applying a wet cloth on his burn, but at the venomous word, he tosses the damn thing to the counter and braces a hand on his hip and the other on the edge of the sink. “Where were you last week?”

Steve hides his hands in the pockets of his jacket and shrugs, “That’s none of your business.”

Bucky grins soundlessly, “how typical.” He marvels, “Your work is none of my business, what you do for a hobby is none of my business, now this?” the grin quickly morphs into a furious scowl, “then why the hell are you still here, Steve?”

“I left you a note, last time.” Steve trails off with his eyes narrowing.

“That means zilch if I had no idea where you’d been!”

“You want to control me, is that it?” Steve’s smoky voice bellows.

Bucky’s tired. He’s sore. If Steve’s spoiling for a fight, he’ll give him one.

“Control you?” He echoes on a deliberate huff, “you make it seem like the only thing I gain from what I do and what I say is hurting you” Which, son of a bitch, has he noticed his behavior for the past month? “Are you insane or what?”

“I don’t see why else you’d keep poking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Steve retaliates just as quickly, “I told you it was none of your business, so drop it.”

“I have a right to know, okay?”

“You have a right to know?” Steve snorts, “why, because we sleep together?”

Bucky’s mouth gapes as he frowns, “You don’t mean that, Steve; we’ve been through this before.”

Steve’s chest rises and he lets out a shaky breath. “I–” he starts, “can we just forget it?”

“No, I’m not gonna forget it.” He insists, “You don’t get to treat me like this and get away with it. You have no right.”

“I know.” Steve grouses, “But if you minded your own, we wouldn’t have to always have this conversation.”

“Yeah?” Bucky urges and fetches the cloth and tosses it at the man. “Fuck you, okay? I’m not desperate.” He reminds, “Now leave.”

Steve snakes his tongue out to lick his lips, “You don’t want me to leave.”

“Is that a threat?” Bucky can’t believe it. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to keep playing this game?” Steve simply said, “If you can’t give me this much space, then it’s better if we, you know, take a break.”

Bucky’s face sags and he wills himself to keep a lid on all the emotions of hurt and betrayal wanting to erupt. “You want us to break up, is that it?”

Steve shrugs half-heartedly.

“Who is it?” Bucky demands.

“Who’s who?”

“The one you’ve been seeing, who is it?”

Steve clicks his lips and rolls his eyes, “there’s no one.”

“Aha,” Bucky’s tone is incredulous, “so what’s got your panties in a wad, you suddenly feel freeing inspiration?”

“’Because of  _you_!” Steve gesticulates to all of Bucky on a howl, takes a moment to calm his breath before he speaks again “you’re being controlling and obsessed, and, honestly, I’m getting sick of it.”

“I wouldn’t be controlling and obsessed if you included me in your life, not just your bed!”

“Yeah, well, maybe I like my privacy.”

“That’s just the thing, Steve, you like your privacy too fucking much!” Bucky seethes, out of breath, “Even more, you act like you don’t care anymore. You don’t express interest, you don’t show up when I ask you to and you just stopped asking altogether.” He grouches, bitingly. “This isn’t how it works, alright? You act as though you know everything about me so it’s okay to draw the line.”

“But I  _do_  know everything about you.” Steve simply states.

Bucky stops mid-rant and holds Steve's eyes in his. He clears his throat, collects himself and wraps his arms over his chest again, maybe to defend himself from more painful declarations. “You want to draw the line now?”

Steve scrubs his nape and groans.

“Have you lost interest in me?” His voice is calm, so calm, the same calm that precedes a storm.

Steve gulps, “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

There was a set of cutlery on top of the counter with other tableware that Bucky punches after balling his fist. Glass shards cut his skin and scatter to the floor, adding to the mess he made earlier. “How it’s relevant?” he echoes, “are you out of your mind?”

Steve furrows his thick brows. “You’re still healing from your wounds, don’t be reckless.”

“You didn’t deny my conclusion about you losing interest in me, asshole.” He reminds, dismissing Steve’s concern because everything isn’t just black and white anymore, not after Steve dropped this bomb.

“Doesn’t mean it’s true,” Steve hollers, and adds more calmly, “Look, I’m just irked by your nonstop nagging and interrogation about my whereabouts. What I do with my free time is my business. Why can’t you wrap your head around it?”

Bucky rakes a hand through his hair and nibbles at his bottom lip.

Steve takes a non-thought step towards him, a crease marring his forehead. “Let me see your hand,” he offers, “blood is dripping.”

Bucky looks down at said hand impaired by angry cuts and covered by blood that’s still seeping out from the small gashes. He slumps to the wall and slides down. His legs stretch in front of him and his hands drop on his thighs.

Steve crouches beside him and, for the second time, takes Bucky’s injured hand in his. Ironically, the burn marks aren’t what they needed to worry about anymore. “What a mess.”

Bucky scoffs slightly, “We are, aren’t we?”

“I was talking about your hand.” Steve corrects on a snipe.

Bucky rolls his eyes tiredly and faces away, “Whatever.”

Steve stands up and washes his hand in the sink, then fills up a cup and crouches beside Bucky again. He starts pouring the water on the cuts and the way Bucky whimpers in a small voice breaks his heart. For the first time, he can’t find satisfaction in Bucky’s pain.

“Gonna bring the first aid kit, don’t move anywhere.”

Bucky vaguely registers Steve disappearing inside the bathroom. There are black dots swimming in his vision and a dull pain radiating from his hand. He can’t believe Steve wants to call this off because he doesn’t like sharing a little bit about himself. They’re supposed to be partners. They’re sharing what no one in this world does. They are special, for fuck’s sake.

He’s been losing sleep, thinking and worrying where Steve had gone off to. If he was safe or hurt, or if he was caught. He’s been living nightmare horrors during the day as well. This is what he gets for his trouble?

He feels a tap on his cheek that prompts him to open his eyes which he didn’t know he closed. He groggily turns his head to face Steve who’s already applying sterile gauze on the wounds.

“These needs stitches, Buck.” He tells him with a sad frown, “want me to do it or do you want to go to the ER?”

Bucky groans and waves his other hand dismissively, “I’ll be fine, so just wrap it in gauze.”

“The bleeding is not stopping, okay?” Steve rumbles, “Stop being reckless about your own health and make a pick.”

Bucky glares at him like he is utterly offended. He pushes him off and scrambles up to his feet.

Steve mimics his action and finds himself straining up. “What?”

Bucky shakes his head dazedly and ushers to the man to hand him the box near his foot. “Hand it over,” he said, “I’ll take care of this. I don’t want you to think that I’m controlling you or anything.”

Steve blows a heavy sigh, “Bucky” he starts, “don’t be like this.”

Said man glowers again, adding more heated fury into it. “Excuse me?” he demands, but then his expression falters because he’s too tired for this crap. “You know what, Steve, I don’t care.” He finally admits, “Apparently, I’m the only one trying to make this work and, honestly, I don’t even know why when you’re so adamantly twisting this to make me the weird one.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You don’t want me to have anything to do with your life,” he jogs the man’s memory again for the third time today of what kind of wrong he's been doing, “so every time I ask, or every time I insist you give me something, I look like the bad guy.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. Coming to think of it, he looks uncomfortable in his own skin. His face is a little pale, paler than usual. His beard is all rumbled. He looks worn out and angry. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s receptors come to a stop. What was that just now, an apology? Did Steve just apologize?

Their eyes meet again and silence prevails for a beat.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I admit I’ve been acting childish about the whole thing.”

Bucky says nothing in response because, well, Steve is finally talking.

“There are a few things, however, that I’d like to keep to myself.” He confesses, “But the way I shunned you was rude, and I realize now that I made a mistake.”

Bucky nods absentmindedly, processing the words.

“I don’t want to break up,” Steve said, “I said that while angry and I never mean the things I say while angry.” He thrusts his hands into his pockets and his shoulders slump. “I’ll say it now so you won’t stress over it, there’s just you. I don’t even think I have the capacity to look at someone else. I meant it when I said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, so, let’s not fuck this up because we have our heads far up our asses.”

 

Bucky eventually allowed the man to stitch up his cuts, and is now in the bathroom, soaking inside the tub.

This isn’t healthy: the two of them, as long as they’re together, they’re going to bring each other pain. Steve had already acknowledged this and even warned Bucky about it, but he was just too delirious to heed the warning. Maybe the man’s also right when he says it’s Bucky’s fault for being intrusive and nosy. He can’t help it, okay? He loves the man to an unhealthy degree and he just wants to be included in his life as much as he allows the other into his. You know what? Maybe Bucky is the one who is being reasonable here. He knows a happy relationship –as happy as it can get with the two of them– can’t be maintained if the two parties aren’t talking things out.

He hears a knock, muffled, and immediately assumes it’s someone at the front door. He knows Steve won’t answer because the guy is anthrophobic, so he lifts up from the lukewarm water to see who’s knocking at his door but Steve’s voice stops him.

“It’s just the pizza guy.”

Bucky leaves the bathroom anyway after wrapping a towel around his waist. He ambles to his bedroom in a search for nice clothes to wear.

This is probably a trust thing; it has nothing to do with Bucky being nosy, and it doesn’t have to do with Steve acting cagey. They just can’t trust each other; well, Steve more than Bucky. If that’s really the case, Bucky should be the one raising hackles here. He was the one kidnapped, tortured and all that jazz. He’s not. He allowed Steve into his place, his bedroom… What else is he supposed to do to show his loyalty, and that he can be trusted?

 

When he returns to the living room, he finds that Steve has left him his share of the pizza in its box before vanishing inside the bathroom. He goes to the kitchen to grab a beer and, fuck, his heart swells at the realization that Steve has also cleaned the mess of broken glass shards and spilled cheese spaghetti. He feels like he wants to bawl his eyes out. They’re both hurt, tired and just… love hurts so much.

 

Steve eyes his haggard reflection in the mirror and frowns. Maybe it’s time to talk to Bucky about these things weighing him down mentally. Maybe it’d become easier to bear if he shared his luggage with the person his shares body heat with; and wasn’t it a blow to the balls when he referred to Bucky as his fuck buddy. How hurt he’d looked. Steve is wronging that man over and over and when Bucky finally manned up to defend his honor, Steve landed this low blow?

He is despicable.

 

Bucky isn’t quite positive that Steve is going to spend the night but a part of him sure hopes so. He chances a glance at the bathroom’s closed door before marching back to his bedroom. He places a chair in front of the bed, turns the lamps on and prepares a throw blanket on the bed. If Steve decides to stay over, then there are a few thought-pattern previously held that they need to get out of the way.

 

The only source of light providing illumination in the room is the two lamps.

Silently, Steve peels off his clothes, one piece of garment falling to the floor after another until he is standing completely naked.

Bucky requested this the moment Steve came looking for him. He also did notice the new double circle tattoo with a star within it between the man’s shoulder blades. And as much as he wants to know the story behind it, he doesn’t want Steve throwing accusations again and calling him nosy, so he keeps his curiosity to himself.

Steve has followed the ushered order, and now he rests on the padded chair Bucky placed in front of him across the bed, and signs to him to proceed whatever he’s planned.

 

Bucky has picked out his red bandana from the drawer, and folds it over Steve’s eyes from behind. Not too tight so phosphenes wouldn’t explode in his eyes. He takes a step to the back, just admiring his handiwork.

Steve’s outline shaded by the faint light, broad shoulders not fitting in the length of the backrest of the chair, and his hair rendered unkempt because of the piece of clothing keeping him from seeing what’s happening. Bucky lifts a hand, the recently injured hand and brushes the tips of his fingers over Steve’s bearded cheek. The reverberant shudder makes him proud. He ghosts his fingers over the flushed skin and then over his mouth, skimming quivering fingers on the lips and parting them slightly. He retrieves his hand before there’s even a reaction to that. His other healthy hand mimics the same ministration, same slow and thorough contact. He glides his hands to Steve’s hair next, kneading the scalp with a little forceful press of his fingertips until the tied man sighs. He fists a lock of golden hair and tugs gently, eliciting more purrs and sighs from Steve.

Bucky deliberately grazes the man’s red ears and nape with his pinky and thumb, then, just as slowly, slides his hands down the length of Steve’s arms, right to the large hands resting on muscular thighs. He twines their fingers together, and instead of repeating the process, Bucky pulls the hands captured in his behind the backrest of the chair. He ties Steve’s wrists with the latter’s belt.

He palms out his hands on the visible area of Steve’s back, and starts a new sequence of caressing the skin. His hands move smoothly to Steve's shoulders, his collar and down to his dips. He strokes the nipples that are already standing erect. He goes lower to Steve’s abs, fondling softly, then returns his hands to the nipples.

Steve’s chest rises and falls, muscled dips go evidently higher the deeper he breathes and exhales.

Bucky brings his lips to the man’s nape, kissing in earnest. He can feel his own breathing uneven and fanning on the man’s skin to wreak havoc. He slides out his tongue and licks one of those red ears, and wet noises soon break the silence interrupted by sporadic sighs.

“Do you trust me?” He whispers in the ear he’s licking, sonorous and sensual. “Steve, do you really trust me?”

Steve gulps and his Adam apple bobs. He nods wordlessly.

 

 

_You've got me surrounded_

_It feels like I'm drowning and I don't want to come up for air_

 

Bucky’s hands rake their way down towards Steve’s groin, pressing his fingers on the V lines, fastidious in his motions, while Steve snakes his tongue out to wet his lips. The brunet kneels before his man’s parted legs, his hands still massaging the same area. He glides them, though, to the thick thighs. The twitch of Steve’s cock tells him he’s doing a really good job so it urges him more. He parts his lips and presses his mouth on the inner side of Steve’s left thigh, licks a long way, moaning deeply onto the skin and making Steve’s sighs deepen. He bares his teeth and bites the skin where the thigh and a ball meet, making Steve hiss, and then nuzzles at the area with his nose, cock and balls touching his cheek. He blows hot breath on them and watches with gusto how the cock adds in volume.

Bucky finally rests both his hands on the cock rising to the attention, and beholds it with a wide, uncertain look.

“Bucky–” the other maybe wants to make Bucky acknowledge his own limit, especially if the flashbacks are still fresh.

 

_I lost everything,_

_I threw myself in and you took me where no one was there_

“Shut up.” Said man interjects with a seethe, “Just, be quiet.”

 

_Well you can take what you need, take the air that I breathe and I'll give away all that I own_

 

Steve does as ordered, letting Bucky battle his inner struggle by himself.

Bucky gives the meaty cock a few strokes, inwardly loving how it stands completely hard under his touch. He clears his throat and opens his mouth. He licks the crown, a quick pass of his tongue to taste and get himself ready for it, and repeats the action a few times, but slower in each trial. Steve is beginning to make more audible noises and there’s nothing else Bucky wants to hear right now more than the man’s moans. He closes his eyes at the flashbacks of Psycho Steve slapping him across the face every time Bucky refused to be anywhere near this cock, and flaps his tongue over the precum-slicked head, dragging it along the shaft.

The feeling of hot, thick and slick skin against his tongue is slowly coursing through him and his own cock likes it. His saliva-coated tongue coils around the shaft, and, suddenly and without a warning, he closes his lips on the glans and takes half of the cock into his mouth with one smooth sweep.

Steve lets loose a small groan, and tosses his head to the back.

A strange hotness spreads inside the brunet as he bobs his head on the cock, feeling it filling his mouth. He remembers how Psycho Steve used to like it: little throat vibrations. For that, he has to take it deeper and he doesn’t know if he can just yet. He makes soft muffled noises as his mouth moves up and down the veiny shaft despite the strain on his jaws.

Steve’s breath is ragged as he groans and grunts deeply. His tied wrists start squirming to untie himself, frantic in his effort; holy fuck, Bucky did not just get on his knees to give him head, and did not just wrap his small –obviously hungry– lips deep around his cock to chase all thoughts in Steve’s head away. A paroxysm of pleasure takes hold of him and he loses sense of everything but the hot mouth on his cock, slurping in earnest. His jaw slackens as he lets out continuous prolonged sighs.

Bucky’s head goes all mushy and dizzy: this lewd scent is strong in his nose, and his mouth is full of cock and precum and he’s losing his mind and his cock is about ready to fucking burst already. He sneaks a hand under the waistband of his boxers and cups his own erection, whimpering on the cock in his mouth at the zapping contact.

Steve on the chair makes a sharp noise, something between a groan and a moan, it’s perfect.

 

_Whatever I lose, is put back by you in a way that you'll never know_

_'Cause I can't be without you_

 

Bucky’s eyes roll under his head as he jerks himself off, the squelching making his cheeks blush.

The bandana comes off a little and slides off one of Steve’s eyes a cause de all that squirming. He seizes the chance to look down at what’s transpiring and, most of all, to appreciate the sight between his legs: Bucky, blushing and sweating, bobbing up and down on his cock with his alluring blue eyes on Steve’s. What’s more erotic about the scene is Bucky rubbing his own cock and getting off on sucking Steve off.

“Fuck…” Steve can feel him trying to hold back, though, and he pretty much knows what’s behind the story, he fucking caused it. If the belt would just come off! “I know it’s a lot to ask but can you take all of it?” He says between gritted teeth.

Bucky shudders at the request that used to be an order, and grimaces. He feels Steve’s cock twitching so he assumes the man is about to ejaculate, which is probably why he requested the mouth abuse, or so Bucky used to call it. He already decided he’ll overcome this, damn it, he should just feel it out and do as his body desires because, fuck yeah, his body wants it.

 

_I'll be there when you need me most I'll be there if you're ever alone_

_Together, we can grow old I can't leave you I can't leave you, no_

 

He opens his lips more on the cock and takes those inches left in until his nose touches the man’s pubic, feeling the hot length pressing against the back of his throat that his eyes start to water. He panics at first, letting out choked-off noises.

“Amazing!” Steve breathes out, “fucking amazing, Buck.”

The compliment transforms his panic and fear into pleasure and, really, he realizes he doesn’t have any qualms with being Steve’s slut in here, within the privacy of these four walls. What makes this consolable is the fact that this was his choice; Steve didn’t force him or beat him into it. This Steve and that Psycho are different.

The cock in his mouth throbs as he chokes on it and the back of his throat convulses on the crown, and Steve is soon coming inside his mouth. Cum slowly spills out and drips down Bucky’s jaw and neck. The latter pulls away and hacks a few coughs with the back of one of his hands cleaning the tip of his jaw. Steve is breathing shallowly, and it’s safe to say the man’s been rendered speechless.

Bucky sits back on the edge of the bed and starts taking off his clothes, and at the resultant rustle, Steve brings his fully-focused eyes back on the other, who crawls sexily on the bed and to the drawer, giving a show of his ass, and brings lube with him.  He remains on the bed, faces Steve again, parts his legs and pours a copious amount on his hand and cock.

Steve watches intently how Bucky rubs his cock with his injured hand, and the other fingers his ass hole. He drills his fingers deeper with each wet thrust, and because he is starting to feel it, he forgets about his cock for now because he will come, and uses his other to finger his hole. He stretches the hole from both sides until it gapes in the size of a ping pong ball, dark and drenched and inviting.

Bucky bites his bottom lip and looks up, flushed and sweaty. “Want you inside me,” he starts, throwing his head to the back “want you so bad…”

Steve’s cock pulsates and stands erect again, wanting to fuck that hole and pound that ass. “Bucky…”

 

_There's no air around me, when we get this close but there's no where I want to go_

_You keep it a secret if you feel the same and leave me dying to know_

 

Said man lifts his tempting, cat-like eyes and smirks at Steve, and to make him go a little even crazier, he keens in a low, mellifluous voice. It works because, next thing, Steve is pulling against the belt binding his wrists like a mad man, his wide and attentive eyes never leaving Bucky’s. The latter, enjoying the outcome of this game, stretches the hole wider. He makes soft cries and shuddery whines that would make any porno star blush, and Steve, entranced and so fucking turned on, is at the end of his tether.

 

_'Cause I can't be without you_

_I'll be there when you need me most_

_I'll be there if you're ever alone_

_Together, we can grow old_

_I can't leave you I can't leave you_

 

With a final, strong pull, the belt comes off and Steve tugs at the bandana next. He lifts up, leaving the chair creak at the loss. He observes the way Bucky prompts up at the creaking and stills all movements with his hands slowly sliding away from the gaping hole. He smirks back at the half smirk Bucky is giving him, and approaches the bed.

 

_You're my way out_

_You're my way through_

_And I can't, I can't Be without you_

_You're my way out_

_You're my way through_

_And I can't_

_Be without you_

 

Bucky can feel the hot and power of Steve’s body as it slides on the bed and makes the edge dib. He props properly on his elbows and smiles up at the pile of walking mystery wrapped in gorgeousness. He is still a little uncomfortable from the dry ejaculate on his chin and neck, but it’s the same discomfort that follows the horror of leaving Snowy without dinner, but he knows the dog ate well and is sleeping on his pad, so he relaxes. He reaches up with a shaky hand, attempting to trace his fingertips over Steve cheek but realizing it is covered in lube and what else, he aborts the movement.

Steve takes Bucky’s hand to rest it on his cheek, and rumbles “You think I care about that?” he said, “I’ll be eating your ass out, babe. This isn’t enough to make me even flinch.”

Bucky moans wantonly in anticipation alone.

 

 

 

 

**~~~~~~**

 

 

 

 

Steve’s thumb and forefinger are pulling at Bucky’s nipple, which he had already abused throughout the night, until it reddens.

“Stop torturing me, man.” Bucky gripes, lazily swatting at Steve’s hand. “Hey, do you think it’d have been different?”

“What would?” Steve demands; his sleepy and velvety voice making Bucky’s body shudder.

“If you and I didn’t meet, if you–”

“I have to stop you right there.” Steve said, “The one thing I hate most is what ifs. If you’re going to ruin my afterglow with things that we both know aren’t going to happen, then maybe it’s time I hit the hay.”

“I know, but–”

“No buts, Bucky.” Steve pleads, “What’s the point of going down that road, huh? We can’t change the past. So maybe it’s wiser to focus on what’s to come.”

Bucky breathes in a deep lungful and exhales, “I suppose.” He admits on a grunt. “Do you have these thoughts, too?”

Steve answers after a pause, “sometimes.”

For Steve to admit that much, it’s huge. The fact that he thinks of this, of how it’d have been if he and Bucky didn’t meet really disheartens the younger. And like the man in question said, he doesn’t want to go down that road, it’ll be painful, but he wants to hear Steve’s take on this since he is also part of this equation –he is indispensable in this equation.

“Do you regret meeting me?” is what he’s concluded.

Steve gives silence as a response, which would have prompted Bucky into action in any other day but they just spent the entire night rutting and mating, it wouldn’t make sense. He is glad he is facing Steve with his back so the latter wouldn’t see the crestfallen look in his eyes.

After an awkward beat, Steve unwinds his arm from Bucky’s middle and sits up, and the latter is too lost and hurt and dejected to move.

“I was the youngest in my family” He starts.

Bucky, still lost and hurt and dejected, and so curious, doesn’t move.

“But I wasn’t an only child. I had two older sisters. We were a happy family and I guess the fact that I was their baby brother made them very protective of me, and so they invested a lot in me to get to where I did.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’m not sure how it really started but I’ve always had abnormal thoughts and impulses. It got worse after my parents’ death. You see, Bucky, if it were a natural death, I’d have had more restraint. My parents were murdered and burnt, and one of my two sisters was found under a bridge. She’d been raped, beaten and raped” –he chokes on the words– “beaten and raped…”

Bucky’s eyes flutter and tears, that he didn’t know welled up, fall abundantly.

Steve snivels, then the slight motion of the bed tells Bucky he is wiping his nose.

“Police couldn’t find my other sister who was also with them that night. Even now, I sometimes wonder if she’s still alive somewhere, calling out to me.” He said, “That night they died, they were preparing to surprise me for my birthday–”

Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“They died on my birthday, Buck,” he confesses on a curt sigh, “I couldn’t be here the other day. I didn’t want to spend that night together with all of that on my mind. It’s not fair to you.”

Bucky cups his mouth to stifle his small cries. He forces his eyes shut and tears continue to stream down endlessly, and silently.

Steve was carrying too much of a weight on his shoulders, and he was carrying it alone. To have a past like that and still live with some fucked-up belief that living with the guilt is punishment for surviving or whatever. What’s more, he secluded himself for the past week on purpose so it wouldn’t affect Bucky, and all the latter did was question the man’s fidelity. This man, and his big fucking martyr complex and this fatalistic bubble he’s confined himself in… this is worse than any torture that psycho subjected Bucky to.

“That’s why I said I wanted to keep a few things to myself.” Steve speaks again after a prolonged pause. “I don’t want to include you in this, and I don’t want this darkness to swallow you too. You’re like the light house providing me with a hope to keep hanging on, if you let this darkness submerge you, I’ll have no one to turn to. Absolutely no one…”

Bucky has calmed down and his body has stopped shaking, so he sits up, the rustling of the bed sheets not doing as effective job to get his mind off Steve’s snivels. He glances at Steve’s hunched posture and leans his back on the headboard, folds his knees to his chest and hugs them.

“My car crash, the one that caused me epilepsy which  _you_  healed, it wasn’t a mere accident.” He starts, his voice small and raspy, as though in shame. “I’d been feeling fed up with my life. I wasn’t happy with this crappy cycle of growing up, graduating and getting a job, marrying, having kids and spending what’s left of your fucking life providing for them. Each day, I felt like I was dying. As though a part of me rebelled the idea of being a part of this robotic life. I became numb and emotionally detached.” He shrugs and his action is lethargic. He lolls his head to the side so that he is looking at Steve with his red-rimmed eyes, a smile pulling at his curled lips. “So one day, I swiveled my bike on a busy frontage road.” His voice is steady now, “Didn’t even bat an eye.”

Steve is slowly frowning up at him with evident reproach.

“You’d think meeting you makes me livid or sad, it doesn’t.” He declares with his eyes glittering in the dim room. “There had been a time I felt angry, but what I went through brought me to life again. I don’t feel numb anymore, and I’m more appreciative of this life.” He eases his posture and shifts closer to Steve, his hands sliding around the man’s shoulders. “I’ve always aspired to alter that repetitive cycle, and when I thought I never could, I took the easy way out. Now, with you, I’m starting to believe that it might really be possible.”

Steve lowers his head and says nothing when Bucky straddles his lap.

“You might think that I’m fragile, maybe I am, but I’m not breakable.” He says, “Look, if you want me to stay outta your sight in each anniversary, I will. I can give you that much space. I just want you to stop thinking that I’d easily be swallowed by that darkness of yours. We all have our demons to fight, and fight and fight, then get back up to fight again–” He lifts Steve’s chin to meet his eyes, “I don’t regret meeting you.”

Something like absolute mirth flashes across Steve’s face, barely, before he is forcing forth another frown. “I’d never be normal, Bucky, I’m not normal. Every time I think of how you’re associating with other people, my skin starts to crawl. When you tell me about your bartender neighbor, all I think about is how to eliminate the bastard from our lives.”

“But you don’t do it” Bucky smiles self-assuredly, bunny teeth showing “this is what differs you from the rest. You know it’s wrong so you don’t do it. I call that functional. “

Steve cocks his head bemusedly after a pause, “A functional psychopath?”

Bucky kneads the base of his neck with gentle pressures, a cocky smirk tainting his lips. “Yeah, functional.” He purrs.

Steve shakes his head on a fond smile and then nods, “sounds good.”

Bucky’s playful smirk morphs into a relenting, serene smile, “Steve, I’m strong, okay?” He said, “Whether you decide to share something with me or nothing at all, it’ll be fine with me. I know a piece of the puzzle now that will grant you the free pass if I ever get doubtful, so you don’t have to keep a thought out for me. I’m a big boy.”

Steve nods, and then, without a warning, his calloused hand goes to the back of Bucky’s head and gives it a gentle shove, pulling him down and pressing their lips together. Bucky immediately melts into the kiss and he rolls his hips, causing their cocks to rub together.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONG: SEAFRET - BE THERE


	20. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,
> 
> This isn't the finale that I originally planned for this, but I know most of you would love to see a happy ending with fluff (well not necessarily fluff); so I had to improvise.  
> I'm planning to post a sequel separately, though, where I'm going to give the ending that I wanted for them.  
> You can subscribe to get the notif if you want, totally optional. 
> 
> Warnings: Tons of swearing, as per usual. Strangulation. Cheating (so to speak). 
> 
> Enjoy?

 

Bucky doesn’t know if he fell from fortune’s favor; certainly, the knife’s sharp edge caressing the vein in his neck sure asserts that.

 

 

A couple of weeks ago, Steve came up to him with a rare offer. He asked Bucky to go on a three-night trip to the hot springs together. As much as Bucky welcomed the change of airs, he also had to postpone because of school which, surprisingly, Steve didn’t oppose to when he really had all the right to seeing how travelling is difficult for someone with Steve’s past. What both of them didn’t count on, however, was a student Bucky helps deal with her psychological crap having a mental break down on a Friday morning. The trip was supposed to start in the afternoon because of the long drive, but the juxtaposition had made him demure despite Steve warning him that he’d rescheduled enough. Bucky couldn’t leave the girl looking like a mess. He wasn’t even going to enjoy his trip knowing he’d left a devastated student to deal on her own.

The trip eventually didn’t happen, and, for the next following few days, Steve stopped dropping by Bucky’s place.

It was a golden opportunity that Bucky had so flippantly tossed into flames. He couldn’t imagine the thoughts that had pulled inside Steve’s head when he first came up with the trip, considering the fact that it was Bucky who had been bitching about wanting to leave town for a breather.

Because of school, Bucky couldn’t visit Steve at all until the next Friday.

 

Steve is a jealous man in nature, and what’s more, he’s unpredictable. He told Bucky once that he’d had better not either touch himself or let someone else do it for him if the circumstances couldn’t help and they couldn’t meet. Just like now. So from last Friday to the next, Bucky had to endure hell. He knew that even if he did touch himself, it wouldn’t be as helpful because his body had been trained to react to Steve only.

Not the point, at least not now.

Bucky collected his _things_ thinking he and Steve would make up for two weeks’ worth of sex, and then he headed to the cabin in the woods. Imagine his surprise when he found a note on the table addressed to him that read:

_[I’m going by myself. Don’t bother coming back at all this week.]_

Beside it being a massive strike to his ego, Bucky couldn’t believe he was being disposed of like unnecessary luggage. Steve wanted to play dirty, fine, two could play this game.

 

That night, Bucky went bar hopping and didn’t care if he had to withstand every throbbing blast of music rattling his head; he had become too used to the assuring silence in Steve’s cabin that any noise now that wasn’t fire crackling was pure torture. If Steve was out of town getting his freak on and enjoying himself to a great extent, then so would he.

He trudged through throngs of people to reach the bar, ordered a beer and checked up the bulky bartender’s ass.

 

“Heartbroken?”

Bucky looked up and found that the blond bartender had crossed his muscled arms on the counter, and was peering down at him with a smile. He straightened up and framed his beer with two unsure hands.

“As if.” he huffed, “Ditched.”

“Isn’t that the same?”

Bucky clicked his lips, “I was ditched, not dumped.” In a way, it meant the same thing. Steve abandoned him knowing damn well that Bucky had been dying to go on a trip with him. He did that to spite him for choosing that student over him. What was Bucky supposed to do, then? Steve wasn’t being fair, and it hurt.

The bartender nodded faintly and twisted his lips, “well, lucky for you, Blue Shirt there has grown a liking to you.”

Bucky left a brow in question, when the bartender jutted his head towards the left, Bucky glanced over at said direction and found a Hispanic in a blue shirt, most likely in his late twenties, propping on the bar and lifting his glass in a silent toast. Bucky looked at the bartender again and narrowed his eyes, “he’s a guy.”

“I know.” The other replied in a tone so matter-of-factly.

“Do I have gay tattooed on my forehead?” Bucky gritted, and then rolled his eyes, “not interested.”

“My bad,” The bartender drawled. “I’ll bring you another beer.” He did as promised and faced the new client who ordered Martini, leaving Bucky to mop and stew alone.

Bucky wondered what Steve could be doing while he drank his pain away. More than the trip itself, Bucky wanted to be with Steve the most. It sounded ridiculous when he thought of it: he was the only one whining about wanting to see Steve when the man didn’t even care, was most likely getting attention from whores who lend their holes for a few bucks.

The reason why Bucky was drinking alone was solely because he had hoped to find solace in the bottom of the bottle, to forget about the man who ditched him and just be free from worries for once, but the hope had dwindled a long time ago –he suddenly chanced a fervent glance at the guy from before and he started to convince himself that he wasn’t bad looking.

 

Jeans dropped to his ankles, and head tossed to the back, Bucky let out a prolonged gasp when Blue Shirt from the bar took his cock in his mouth. He was delirious, and hurt, his head felt heavy and he was very, very turned on. If this strange guy decided to go all the way, Bucky wouldn’t have cared. He closed his eyes and, ignoring that nagging feeling at the back of his head, tried to enjoy it because, other than Steve, no one has ever touched his body. Most of all, he tried not to heave over the guy’s head.

Slowly, he found that he was gradually starting to feel it, maybe because the guy had killer skills because, God Damn, could that man suck. Bottom line was, he was starting to react. He’d told himself that if it wasn’t Steve, he would never even become hard. Yet this guy was changing his reality.

He moaned with a thin voice and didn’t care if he sounded like anything he shouldn’t sound like; he was feeling it. The guy was doing amazing things to his cock and balls, and his head was a mushy mess that didn’t care at that point about anything but climaxing.

Suddenly, the guy pulled away and stood up as though his bus had arrived at the stop. He was a little shorter and thinner, but his skills made up for what he lacked in physical appearances. It made Bucky not regret his decision to head to the back of an alley with a complete stranger to blow off steam.

He neared Bucky’s face and spoke, “you said you top but I’m getting a different vibe from you.” He started, “I myself rarely top but is it okay with you if I put it in?”

Bucky scowled. He was feeling good just a moment ago, why did this guy stop?

The guy’s hands wandered down Bucky’s hips and slid to his backside, “You make really sweet noises, and you’re pretty hot. I want to hear how you cry out when I fuck you.”

Bucky finally connected the dots and started to squirm in the man’s hold; just when he finally thought he’d hit the jackpot, turned out the guy was just as sadistic as Steve?

Nice.

“I really want to do you,” the stranger whispered with such fervency that bespoke his eagerness. He began to nudge his fingers against Bucky’s entrance and sigh at every small whine leaving Bucky’s lips. “There’s nothing more satisfying than bringing guys like you down a peg or two.”

Bucky’s heart beat out of pace as panic built up. “Let go…”

The stranger inserted two fingers in as if he had all the fucking right to, and delighted at the sight of Bucky keening, “Holly shit!”

“Take it out, you fucker!” Bucky seethed, swatting at the stranger’s face.

“Calm down,” the other bit out, “We’re the same, don’t panic.”

They were the same, how?

How in the world could Bucky be the same with anyone, with his past and present?

Was this guy even for real?

Bucky snapped a heated glare at the assailant and smirked coldly, “Don’t flatter yourself, asshole” he goaded, finally pushing him off with a vigorous shove and kicking his rear; the guy was shorter and thus easier to dominate.

“What the hell, man!” The guy whined.

“Listen here, dick head, if you don’t piss off, you’re gonna regret ever meeting me.”

The guy’s brows twitched.

“Do I have to spell it for ya?” He bellowed, “Piss off!”

He watched the man scramble up properly on his legs and finally bustle away while muttering ‘psycho’ over his shoulder. Bucky sagged to the wall and palmed his face: his life would be over if Steve learned of what just transpired. He could just man up and tell him if Steve ever received the inspiration to pry; Bucky is allowed to have other things than Steve’s egotism. Besides, Steve was probably getting his cock sucked right fucking then.

Like a rock dropping to his stomach, Bucky felt suddenly terrified of Steve, of his jealously, and his tendency to possess and dominate. He felt terrified of the man Steve becomes when he’s angry, and so, for everyone’s safety, his furniture included, Bucky decided to keep this night a secret that he would very much take to his grave rather than brag about.

Beside the shock and the disgust, and the anger, Bucky couldn’t believe he almost let some dumb jerk put his thing in him. Fear started foraging through to him and messing with his head; he almost let a stranger take him. He almost cheated on Steve and maybe he even did when the fucker got on his knees and gave a slapdash blowjob, which, God damn, had felt so good.

Steve wasn’t replaceable, and some random guy couldn’t fill up the gap in Bucky’s heart just because he knew how to twirl and suck a cock in his mouth. Even in a moment of anger, he shouldn’t have let the man have his way with him –he fans on a light pole and heaves out everything he’d eaten on the ground, including the beer the guy bought and said was on him.

He looked up and caught sight of the phantom of high mountains surrounding this town, and the woods flooring them. He’d been plodding in and out of those woods for almost two years now, and he couldn’t imagine stopping one day. Steve living inside the woods had somehow become a concept of its own, and Bucky couldn’t bring himself to picture the man in another place. The woods completed this image Bucky had of his lover…

His lover…

Steve –Bucky’s eyes watered and tears spilled easily when he blinked– he couldn’t lose him, God, he just couldn’t. Especially not because of a stupid thing called ego. If Steve wanted to go on that trip by himself, that’s fine. If he did that to spite him, that’s fine, too. After all, Bucky had stayed for a noble reason.

 

 

He staggers the rest of the way home. As he stands to connect the key to the hole, he can hear Snowy barking excitedly. He plasters his forehead on the door to stop his vision from swaying, and groans “I know,” He shouts to quite the animal, “Give me a second.”

He finally manages to push the door open and, to his surprise, Snowy wasn’t happy because of his arrival. Apparently, there’s a guest waiting inside for his return, in the dark. Bucky stands rooted to his spot beside the front door, keys in hand.

“Come in.”

Bucky nods like an enchanted idiot and walks in after closing the door. “I should’ve known,” he steps into the living room, “Snowy only gets like that if it’s you.”

“You reek.”

“Um, yeah” Bucky ruffles his own hair and flops down on the couch after turning the lights on, “I was at a bar.”

“I can see that.” The other growls, “you left Snowy alone and you went to get shit-faced?”

Bucky inhales a shaky lungful and then turns reproachful eyes on the other, “Weren’t you going on a vacation?”

“I did go on a vacation.”

At that, Bucky sits up, his neutral expression falling, “You ass.” He rebukes, “You knew how much I wanted to go, too!”

“Yes, what of it.”

The nerves Steve sometimes had made Bucky question his own limits. “What about me, then, why didn’t you invite me?”

“I did,” the other replies, he turns his eyes to the half eaten apple and the knife on the table he helped himself to from the kitchen, and says “you turned me down.”

“I only said to delay the trip a little bit.” Bucky flares his nose, his cheeks starting to heat up.

“It doesn’t matter now,” He sighs wearily, “you were evasive and you favored your work over us, you had it coming.”

Bucky shoots up to full height and glares fumingly down at the man, “You’re the worst.”

“Why, because I worked my ass off to pay for the trip in advance, to book us a room?” He starts to rise to his legs as well, and since he is taller, he looks like a looming threat. “I wasn’t the one who abandoned you. I didn’t start this.”

“Wait, wait a minute” Bucky lifts both hands and lowers his head as though recognition finally downing on him. He looks up again. “You do realize that the reason why I couldn’t leave was because my student needed me, don’t you?”

“I needed you, too.”

Bucky scowls immediately, “you’re making no lick of sense, Steve.” He said in reproach. “Were you testing me, seeing who weighed more for me?”

“And your answer knocked me off my socks, to say the least.”

“That’s not fair!” Bucky roars, his blushed cheeks reddening even more with righteous rage. “That student was devastated. She hit rock bottom and was self-harming. How can anyone turn a blind eye on that, let alone her teacher?”

“What’s done is done,” He shrugs, like he’s the only one with the ability to dismiss an argument, and added “You made your point.”

“You’re a selfish prick, Steve.” Bucky smiles ruefully to himself. He’s now sobering up and it all seems preposterous. “Sometimes I wonder if the reason why I’m still putting up with you is because I’m addicted to your cock. We don’t see eye to eye anymore.”

“Ouch, you’re hurting my feelings.” The other hums, showing an amused expression.

“It’s true, though.” Bucky rubs his nape, and the scent of alcohol wafts to him with the action. “I only said to postpone the trip, and you even agreed. I didn’t favor her. I was merely helping a person who had lost hope. I don’t know how you see this world but the way it is and the way I see it, we can’t get along.” That’s not what he would normally say, but, right at this moment, that’s how he feels. “Now, if you’ll excuse me” –he faces the direction of the bathroom with his posture hunched– “I’d like to take a shower and wash the sweat and cum –” his breath hitches all of a sudden.

“What was that?”

Panicked, and wide-eyed, Bucky tries to lurch forward in a poor attempt to flee but a marble hand on his elbow hinders his plan.

“I said” –Steve repeats with a squeeze of his fist around Bucky’s elbow– “what was that?”

Bucky takes in the hard and furious eyes on his and quivers. “What was what?”

Steve flashes a cocky smirk, “Don’t play dumb, you bastard, did you whore yourself around in my absence?”

Bucky wrenches his arm from the other’s clutch, “mind your tongue!” he raves, dull surprise in his tone. “You’re crossing the line.”

As though spurred on, Steve yanks him by the lapses of his cardigan and pins him down on the couch. As Bucky fights beneath to get him off of his back, Steve manages to undo his belt and remove his jeans. Bucky swears and whines, but Steve eventually touches his precum-slicked boxers. He retracts his hand before his face and eyes the sticky fluid.

Steve gives him a hefty shove and levers up, livid. “You’re a slut.” He concludes, “I leave for only a few of days and you’re already looking for cocks to fuck you?”

Bucky had tons of justifications to pick from, easiest was to tell him he’d missed him and rubbed one out in the bar’s bathroom. It wasn’t only going to save his bacon, but it was also going to make Steve proud and happy. Yet this voice in him urged him to spur him on even more as payback for testing him.

Steve moves things along for him by pulling him and forcing him to turn, and that’s when Bucky sees the kitchen knife in his hand. “Talk.”

Bucky knows this man has a better reign on his temper than the Psycho Doctor ever did, so he’s confident the edge of the knife would do nothing but caress the vein in his neck. He shifts in a way that reveals his wet boxers, and drones “He had crazy skills. I came twice in his mouth.”

Steve’s eyes become dull as he stares on blankly, the knife in his hand remaining on the other’s neck.

“He bottoms, but he said he wouldn’t mind doing me,” Bucky purrs in false haughtiness, “his fingers felt so good inside me –” he barely registered the clutter that followed of the knife falling to the floor and then two hands coming up when the pressure already built on his neck. His eyes go wide as he takes in the sight of Steve, blank-eyed, choking him with both hands.

“Don’t provoke me.” He warns, his voice deep and cold. “You don’t own me, I own you. You so readily came back to me, ignoring all the times I told you not to. You think I’ll just get over everything now?”

Bucky catches the sound of something woody getting hit and figures that Steve’s foot just knocked against the table. He starts to seriously dread what Steve’s tantrum would do to him, and Snowy barking at the side isn’t helping at all. “Let go…” he gasps, his hands swatting at the ones pushing the veins along his neck back in.

The look in Steve’s eyes grows even darker, “You’re mine.” He said on a heartless smirk, and added “If I can’t have you all to myself, no one can.”

By that point, Bucky has become a wheezing mess. “Let go-…” he rasps, “Ste… Ste-ve”

“I’ll just finish you.”

Snowy snarls and barks at Steve, and even attempts to gnaw at his ankle but the man simply kicks him away, making him land against the ground harshly with a whimper.

“I’ll finish you, and then I’ll finish off all the men you slept with.”

“I…” Bucky looks up through slanted eyes and catches a reflection of sadness. He knows that if he doesn’t tell him, Steve would seriously kill him thinking he’d been whoring around. “I didn’t!”

Steve eases the pressure on his neck only a little, and Bucky yelps and takes a massive inhale of breath.

“I swear!” He pleads, “Only you…”

“What about the semen in your clothes?”

“I was pissed, okay? But I swear he didn’t do more than give head. He didn’t even finish.” Bucky quickly gulps to finish his sentence before Steve finishes him. “He tried to force me, though, but I pushed him off. That’s all that happened. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

 Steve’s hands remains on his neck, not pressing nor pulling away. “Your mother’s alive.”

“My real mother,” Bucky clarifies, “My father remarried twenty years ago.”

Steve only nibbles at his bottom lip meditatively, remaining silent.

“Steve,” Bucky cries, “I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry. I threw up after he left. I couldn’t stand getting touched by someone other than you.” It was the truth.

Steve’s hands now slowly pull away.

Chancing his freedom, Bucky shoves the other off, sits up properly and coughs, a hand going to retrace the fingerprints on his skin, then up over his face. He keeps his folded arms up before his face, hiding from the penetrating gaze. What makes it even worse is the fact that after what he’s done, he still feels unjust.

It’s not like he expected a vouching for his actions, but being at Steve’s mercy at a time like this stresses the sense of hopelessness he feels sometimes. He hides his face because he’s done showing his weaknesses to Steve while all the man does is exploiting them. He hides his face because he doesn’t want to show his tears anymore.

Steve only watches in silence how Bucky hiccups and sobs like a sentimental after a bad breakup, unable to rein in his emotions. He continues to eye his tear-streaked cheeks, waiting for what’s going to follow after all that wailing.

“I’m not going to apologize to you.” He simply said when all Bucky did was cry, “This is who I am, Buck, and you signed up for it.”

Snowy whimpers for their attention and trots closer, his ears drooped and his tightly tucked tail pressed under his belly.

Bucky’s sobs reduce to mere snivels as he slowly puts down his arms, revealing a face framed by red-rimmed eyes, a runny nose and wet fringes. He deflates on the backrest and blows out a shaky sigh.

He allows Snowy to get on the sofa beside him to lick his tears away.

“If you’ve calmed down, go clean up.”

Bucky looks up, shimmering eyes pinning Steve’s. “More than your jealousy, I needed your compassion.” He says about that and lifts up, pulling his jeans up.

Steve’s eyes follows the other as he trudges towards the bathroom, unescorted, and his chest, for whatever reason, clenches with a spoken pang. Snowy beside him nudges his muzzle against Steve’s side, but he only pets his head.

Bucky empties what was left of his tears inside the bathroom and only got out when he felt refreshed again. Dressed in a white plain T and dark sweatpants, he leads himself to the kitchen where he smelt food, and finds Steve loitering in there with Snowy happily sauntering beside his feet. He doesn’t want to know what they’re up to so he retraces his steps back to the living-room and fans down on the couch after turning the TV on.

 

Steve comes up to him after a while and ignores how Bucky’s eyes are trembling. “You didn’t dry your hair properly.”

As expected, there are no replies forthcoming.

Doesn’t he understand that Bucky is sulking and does not wish to be bothered?

Silently, Steve sits beside him and pulls up his arm, startling Bucky. His hand pauses mid-air. He lets out a sigh and rests that hand on Bucky’s head, ruffling his hair. “You’ll catch a cold.” He warns, but his voice is gentle. “You should dry it properly.”

Bucky nibbles absentmindedly at his bottom lip, and pretends to focus on what’s airing on the TV screen. “I’m watching this now.” To make a point, he shakes the remote in his hand and cranks up the volume.

Steve makes his way back to the kitchen again without a complaint.

He deserved it.

 

A food commercial rolls in and it tempts the birds in Bucky’s stomach as they start chirping, so he sets out to the kitchen and, this time, finds Steve setting the table.

“Hey,” said man hums, “since you’re done, let’s sit and eat.”

Bucky stands by the table and takes in the sight of beef shining on a large plate, it looks so holly his eyes hurt, and he starts to contort his brows. “What’s the occasion?”

Steve shrugs and sits down, and motions to the other to do the same. “Dig in.”

Like a starved hyena, Bucky gobbles down the pan-fried meat with enormous appetite. He doesn’t even see the salad sitting in the dark, waiting for a spotlight to be shed. Snowy doesn’t care either way; no one is going to steal his share.

Aside from the obnoxious noise of someone chewing with their mouth open, the thought of Bucky liking his cooking warms Steve’s heart. He dumps another portion of beef into his mouth and keeps his eyes on Bucky, who’s already finished his share and is now assaulting the salad. Steve cuts his share in a half and places one part on Bucky’s dish. He smiles at the sight of the man snatching it like a cat and eating it with a satisfied moan.

 

Bucky drinks his wine at ease, making pauses between each gulp. He keeps his half-dulled eyes on Steve, studying the way he eats like a royalty. Come to think of it, Steve did use to be rich. He was a genius, and a brilliant neurologist who had the unfortunate chance of meeting a heartless bitch. The fact that he lost everything and was now freely buying expensive meat made Bucky unfold the theories that clang to that fact. 

He doesn’t realize he was lost in thoughts until Steve’s foot touches his. It wasn’t accidental, and it wasn’t unlikable either. Although Bucky has been sulking all night, he doesn’t feel any urgent need to shuffle his foot away.

Steve continues eating the last bits of his salad, and he keeps touching Bucky’s foot in a deliberately sensual way. After he’s done, he props on his elbow and takes his wine in his other hand. Bucky mirroring his posture.

Their eyes meet; Bucky’s still red-rimmed but very alluring, and Steve’s dark and mysterious.

Bucky starts to gulp down the rest of the wine, tilting his head to expose his bruised neck. At the sight of his bruised neck, Steve groans. He did that. It is his mark. He marked his lover…

Bucky blows out a refreshed sigh and slams the glass down, now leaning on the table and letting his hand wander closer to Steve’s. The man surreptitiously rests his arm on the table too and finally touches Bucky’s hand.

Their fingers brush against each other, and unable to stand the teasing anymore, they twine them.

 

Bucky finished doing the washing-up and rolled down his sleeves to pet the head of a sleeping Snowy. He switches the lights off, the bathroom’s, too, and tramps towards his bedroom where Steve said he’d be, finding the man leaning on the door frame of the balcony, a cloud of smoke wafting overhead and being drifted away by the breeze of the summer night.

Steve either didn’t hear his footsteps approaching, or he did and just simply didn’t care. He stands out just by standing there sky-gazing, a cigarette between fingers. He looks out at the streets illuminated by the light poles as though it was a painting that he could only appreciate from afar. His broad, lonely back and his silence don’t fit, but at the same time, fit so perfectly. Steve stands there as though the door was the line that he couldn’t cross –light exists beyond that door, and, unfortunately, he loves his darkness better.

He takes another suck of the cigarette, making the embers at its end glow red.

Bucky’s chin meets his chest for a second, but he soon tips his head to the back; he’s empowered his confidence, his and Steve’s. He takes a deep inhale and walks up to the man, seizes a hold of the cigarette and steps into the balcony, pulling Steve with him from the elbow. He takes a drag and blows it out, keeping his eyes on Steve’s. God, it’s been a while since he had one of these.

Steve leans on the balustrade with his back –as though being in the open was enough risk, facing the world with his back was safer, and he closes his eyes to further appreciate breeze stroking the visible parts of his body and fluttering his hair.

“How was it, in the hot springs?” Bucky wants to know. He also leans on the balustrade and continues to smoke the cigarette.

“I didn’t go.” Steve deadpans on a slight shrug.

Bucky whips his head to him, “but the note…”

Steve rubs his nape and winces, “I was pissed,” he started, taking the cigarette from the other “I did that to make you suffer a little.”

Bewildered, Bucky looks askance at him, shaking his head dazedly. He was almost raped because this bastard wanted to fuck-mind him? Though, that was totally him. “You have a rotten personality.”

“And you love me crazy despite that.” Steve interjects on a smug smile.

 Bucky rolls his eyes even though his lips are lopsided into a smirk. “So I’m guessing that’s where the beef came from.”

“Um, not really.” Steve counters, taking another whiff of the cigarette and making it hiss, “I spent the trip’s money on something else.”

“What’s that, or are you going to tell me it’s a secret.”

Steve doesn’t deign to answer. Instead, he closes his eyes and falls awfully silent.

Bucky takes the cigarette from his fingers and sucks on it, “Whatever,” he said, “You’d better take me somewhere soon. I’ll pay, too, so let’s just leave these woods for a while.”

The desperation in his voice is raw, but Steve doesn’t rush to assure him of anything. He remains wordless with his eyes closed. Another breeze drifts by, caressing his bare nape. It truly looks like he belongs somewhere else, which makes Bucky jealous. He can’t bear the thought of his man being taken from him, not even by a breeze.

He squashes the cigarette and flicks it outside; he doesn’t even care where it landed. He shuffles closer, slips a hand to Steve’s middle and ducks to press his lips to that nape, causing a slight change in Steve’s stance.

 

During slow, deep and shameful love making, Steve, still buried in Bucky’s ass to the hilt, stops thrusting to take something out of the nightstand’s drawer. Bucky is too flushed and dazed that he doesn’t register the pause until Steve was taking his left hand in his.

Steve peers down at his man’s blushed cheeks, his sweat-drenched body and his cum-coated belly. He drinks in the sight of his slightly parted plush lips and his glazed blue eyes pouring tears from each corner. He slips something gold and shiny on Bucky’s fourth finger and then kisses it like a gentleman.

Bucky struggles to overcome the tides of pleasure Steve’s grinding against his good spot is giving him, and sees the reflection of a ring on his finger. It gives his heart a massive jostle. He tries to prop up on his elbows but the way Steve holds his hand, and the way he kisses it and even the way his brows contort… Bucky feels motionless with happiness and disbelief: He’s being proposed to. He isn’t hallucinating, nor is this a wet dream and those usually never dare to go beyond the consensual raping.

He is being treasured.

“Steve…”

Said mad shakes his head, an indication for him to be quiet, Bucky obeys. He puts that hand down and Bucky hurries to kiss the ring: a silent vow. Steve hooks his arms under the other’s knees and presses down until they are almost chest to chest, the bed creaking beneath in agreement.

Bucky looks up with enamored eyes, and then allows himself to be kissed on the lips.

Wordlessly, Steve pulls from the kiss, pulling his cock to the head and then slamming it back in to the hilt again, and repeats the action, gradually growing faster despite the man under him screaming in pleasure, he pounds and pounds until Bucky’s entire body starts quivering. He doesn’t cry or moan. He utters no sounds as his body continues to shudder and convulse. His cum spurts over his chest again and Steve, elated, halts all motions. Bucky, then, gasps so loud as though someone had threatened to suck out the air from the room.

“Steve!” He finally cries out.

“It’s fine…” Said man coaxes, bringing Bucky in for a hug as the man clang to him so desperately. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He promises into his ear, and added, his tone wistful, “That was a trembling orgasm, Bucky. It means you’ve just tasted a piece of heaven.”

What he, obviously, is oblivious to is that Bucky’s heaven is here, with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, I would like to thank each and every one of you who supported me by either liking this or leaving me comments, it really made me happy.  
> Hope to see you in the sequel :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So im posting on the 14th as promised sort of an encouragement to me in my birthday. Also, I'm deviding the sequel into two parts because it was getting very lengthy. 
> 
> ATTENTION! If you're going to read this, pretend the finale didn't happen.  
> If you liked the finale and are satisfied with it, I advise you against reading this.
> 
> The second part of this sequel is going to be darker, so please, if you don't think it's what you want, steer away now. 
> 
> For the rest of you dark souls, gather here my dears, let us feast our cores with more evil. 
> 
> BANKS - CONTAMINATED 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The resonance of soft ripples of water caressing his legs is an odd sound Bucky isn’t used to hearing; he is used to the birds singing on tree branches or the sill of the cabin’s window, even the dull thumps of Steve’s axe chopping logs in the front lawn is natural now that Bucky’ made the cabin his second home, but the water thing still feels odd.

“You’re dallying.”

Intercepting his fascination with the colorless water slipping into the plastic gallon jug, Bucky looks up, finding that Steve, sitting hunched at the river bank with Snowie trotting and jumping beside him, has already finished unhooking his prey for the day from the snare and tying its limbs together–a wild rabbit, of all things Steve wanted to make stew of; Bucky will fight tooth and nail to keep from skinning that thing, and if Steve ever receives the inspiration to glare at him into doing it like he did earlier to have him fill up the gallons with water, there’ll be hell to pay. Besides, it’s, what, 107 degrees outside; a bowl of porridge would make a better menu.

“Yeah, well, sorry” he said, “the bottle’s hole is tighter than my ass; it’s not my fault the water isn’t going in.”

Shaking his head sadly, Steve flumps the squirming rabbit over his shoulder like a zealous nomad, and he’s already shirtless so imagine Bucky’ struggles, and he stands up. “I’m going back first.”

“Oh, no you’re not.” Bucky lifts up as well and hears a couple of joints in his back and knees popping. “I’ve got two more to fill up and I ain’t carrying all that by myself, alright?”

How Steve’s eyes don’t fall out his skull when he rolls them is a miracle, a miracle that Bucky isn’t really interested in celebrating. The raven-haired gives his surroundings a fleeting onceover before finally setting the terrified rabbit on the floor, and then plopping down with his back against the trunk of a shadowy tree, Snowie just copying him at this point as he sprawls on his four, his head tucked over his front limbs.

“Happy now?”

Bucky’ sneer shows some of his teeth, “oh, I’m buzzing.”

 

No wonder he caught Steve by the river the first time they reunited five years ago, filling these jugs to the brim takes a lot of time and patience, and Bucky, although blessed with a variety of virtues, he’s ready to kick them all to hell. His back isn’t protected from August beaming sun –correction, boiling sun. Even a man holding grudges wouldn’t be too harsh, heck, Wushu training would have been easier to withstand. Now he’s standing here with no hat on, his skin just absorbing the heat like it’s no one’s business and Bucky is supposed to keep the posture until all the jugs are filled; give him a break.  
To ease the heat a little bit, Bucky rids of his gray t-shirt, remaining in his shorts only.

“An impromptu striptease?”

Again, Bucky looks up with a little pout; why does he have to get water from Phlegethon while Steve basks in the shade, and the bastard isn’t very bashful on letting him suffer in silence; he has to rub it in his face. Then, it clicks. And his pout morphs into a lopsided smile. “If you promise to fill up the two jugs left, you’ll get some of this” –he fondles his abdomen to deliver the insinuation.

Desperate, but effective.

Steve seems to be considering the offer for a second before he prompts up, “Alright, here’s the deal” he starts, “If you finish your show properly, I’ll fill up the jugs and carry them all by myself.”

“You voyeuristic asshole,” Bucky huffs; two things can happen, this could either work and Steve would end up doing all the heavy lifting, or some poor son of a bitch walks in while Bucky is standing there with his cock in his hand, because he will hold his cock in his hand, nothing will stop him from making Steve regret challenging him. “Fine,” he hisses despite his inner worries, and adds as an afterthought “how hard can this be.”

Not hard enough, Bucky realizes following the ease with which he’s fondling his abdomen and neck; it’s like he’s already finished a ten month internship at Steve’s cabin and he’s now putting everything to the test, though, that can also be attributed to the fact that Steve’s seen every part of Bucky’ body so the latter found the intricacies of stripping down and caressing his body quite painless.

Steve is reclining on the tree bole with his arms behind his head, like he’s expecting Bucky to fail and only entertaining the idea in his mind while, at the same time, feasting his eyes with whatever Bucky is doing inside the waters. He can see from the corner of his eyes that Snowie has closed his eyes, too fed up with these two humans’ bull shit.

Steve keeps his eyes on Bucky’ body, and the way he’s swaying his hips with his neck tilted to the back in a way that shows the veins and the love marks from last night scattered there. Bucky’ hair has grown to his ears that’s why he has it wrapped into a messy bun, but light brown locks still cling to his sweaty forehead.  
The radiance of the sun beams assaults his eyes the moment Bucky opens them, but knowing he’s giving a good show of his neck the way that drives Steve a little mad persuades him to hold on. He knows Steve is staring, boring his green eyes into every visible inch of Bucky’ body, so he decides to move forward with the show.

They’re outside in broad daylight, so the threat of some hiker or ranger walking in here for some water is very real, and would be unavoidable, which is all exciting if Bucky is being sincere.

He moves his hands to the button of his shorts, head tips forward so that he can see what his actions are doing to Steve as he unbuttons the shorts. Thumbing at the waistband, he slowly slides it down along with his boxers.

Steve follows the clothes the brunet just neatly dropped to the ground outside the water, and then he looks back at the completely naked man save for the handmade leather bracelet on his wrist which is something Steve made for him for his birthday a while ago, and he falls in love all over again with the sight.

Bucky’ sun-kissed body is glistering in sweat, his skin looks tight and smooth, but also sun burned. And the hazel in his eyes –Steve leans forward to have a clearer view– is glinting brighter than the river water and there’s no way that’s merely a reflection. Bucky’ eyes are naturally more expressive, doleful but beautiful.

There’s a tightness building in Bucky’ chest that the man somehow knows why it’s growing; five years ago, he had left a handful of friends and foes –well, one, but Jackson repented in the end and so he should be redeemed from the nemesis-title– in the shade of an old tree and he slipped into the woods to wash in this river. Now, despite the few changes, it still seems like it’s a recreation of that day with Steve just a few feet away looking at him exactly how a man looks at a woman.

Bucky knows a similar thought has got to have crossed Steve’s mind by now; the settings, the temperature and the flashbacks, there’s no way this isn’t bothering Steve the way it is Bucky. There’s no way this isn’t exciting him, the way it is doing to Bucky.

Unable to keep the onslaught of memories of day they first met from submerging him, Bucky reels around with such a dignified grace, exposing the carvings and the barely visible welt marks on his back, as well as the curves of his waist. Bucky’ no longer the ‘twink’ he used to be back in college, he’s gained some weight and added some muscle mass. He must say, he looks ravishing even to himself. He can almost hear Steve gulping from here, so, slowly yet again, he glides his hands down his sides, his hips and finally his ass, and squeezes the meat.

The way Bucky parts his ass cheeks to reveal the rim is making Steve want to leap at the man and do him right then and there. He can’t believe he’s becoming hard watching Bucky fondle the meat of his round ass while glancing over his shoulder with those expressive eyes to probably make sure he is doing a good job, which, God damn, he is.

The scrutiny is doing things to Bucky, and to his cock. He finds that he loves the worshipping look Steve is giving his body, and he loves the reign of control he has right now over that man’s self-restraint; he can blow it all to hell if he so much chooses. He presses his luck a little harder when he slides an arm under his crotch and rubs his puckered entrance, fingers brushing against it and teasing to go in.

At this point, Steve is biting down on his knuckles not bolt up and ruin the show as he watches the way Bucky inserts not one, but two fingers at the same time and mewl at the resultant burn.

He’s been keeping one hand pressed to his left ass cheek so that he gives a good view of what his fingers are doing, but he realizes his cock is also standing and throbbing for some attention and he decides to provide it. He can hear his heart pounding in his throat and the heat rendering his logic useless, he can feel every vein in his body beating in tandem and making him lightheaded.  
His fingertips bump with that wonderful spot and Bucky’ knees lose balance, bringing him down into the water with a splash. His pressure on his cock doesn’t let up as he thrusts his fingers in and out, hitting that spot repeatedly while rubbing his cock off until cum shoots out, accompanied by Bucky’s broken moan.

Sitting in the cool water feels nice against his sunburns, and he can feel his labored breathing and pounding heart slowly falling into a calmer rhythm. Bucky parts his eyes open to check on the mess he made into the same water they’re going to be using, and groans.

Now that he remembers, he isn’t by himself in these woods.

Bucky swivels, still crouching inside the waters, then his eyes go wide the moment he finds Steve’s silhouette standing above him, masking the sun.

“I’m done.” He croaks. Despite the fact he really enjoyed that, now he feels tendrils of shame enwrapping him.

“No, you’re not.” Steve quotes back at him, his voice deep and calm. “On your knees, Bucky.”

Scowling, Bucky says “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It is now.”

Muttering a pejorative, Bucky moves closer to Steve’s feet and places his knees a little outside the water, but he is surprised when he gets pulled up from the arm by Steve, and made to stand before him in all his bare glory.

He would like to vocally express his displeasure with the way Steve is handling him; after all, this is his show, but it all dies on his lips when he actually sees Steve’s eyes.

The tightness he felt earlier squeezes even more in the pit of his stomach. This feels like a déjà-vu no matter how much Bucky denies it. The way Steve is taking in all of him, staring openly at his collarbone, at his nipples and his cock, this is Steve from five years ago. It burns. It feels hard to breathe… very shameful.

A bird squeals in the distance, and, for the second time, it sounds like an echoing scream. Then, just like that, Bucky is taken back to that day of August 2008, a machete guy and a bowman hunting them throughout these woods, his friends getting blown up and beheaded, Steve leading them to the cave and finally lifting the veil off his true identity…

“Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t realize he’s back on the ground until he opens his eyes, but everything looks blurry, why? It can’t be over 107 degrees. They haven’t reached the boiling point, have they? Why is everything so blurry?

“Bucky.”

Said man shakes his head, he tries to lift up but the gravity’s grip on his legs is more forceful. “Pull me up.”

Steve helps him up again, pulling him out of the water completely. “You good?”

With his eyes closed against whatever these feelings clashing against him without mercy, Bucky nods jerkily.

“Let’s just go back for now.”

Bucky feels Steve’s hand pulling him but he summons all of his strength to hinder his effort, “no” he says in a small voice, and quickly repeats, sterner this time. “No!”

Steve’s hand falls from Bucky’ arm, the two keeping their eyes on each others’.

“If –” Bucky gulps, “If we don’t this now, it’ll mess me up, Steve.”

“We can do it in the cabin.”

The brunet is shaking his head too vigorously it’s a wonder he doesn’t get a whiplash. He drops to his knees and works on unzipping Steve’s pants. “You don’t get it,” he tells the man’s cock, “you won’t understand even if I explain it to you. You don’t remember.”

By the correlation of forces, Steve has a pretty decent idea what’s gotten into Bucky after a show that would give the strongest of men a taxing dehydration from coming too much. Softening with a look, he brings a hand to Bucky’ cheek. He’ll be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised when Bucky batted it away.

He can’t measure Bucky’ pain. He just physically can’t because he’s incapable of remembering. Although he sees bits and pieces in his sleep, he knows it isn’t enough to measure Bucky’ pain. But, Steve, despite who he used to be and despite what he’s become, he feels his lover’s pain. He knows Bucky is hurting so much, sometimes even hating himself and those become obvious when they’re having sex.

If he could, Steve would turn back time and make himself disappear. He really hates to see Bucky beating himself up about something bigger than him.

There’s something about the settings here that’s giving Steve a bad itch all over his skin, and since Bucky’ gotten like this, it must have something to do with what happened five years ago.

Well, no shit.

He suddenly feels Bucky’ lips lifting the head of his cock, and his tongue flapping on it glans. Any thoughts or images of what might have happened in here are distorted then by Bucky’ skill.

Bucky shuts his eyes against the voices and the images in his head trying so desperately to make him regret choosing Steve, and he takes Steve’s cock deeper into his mouth to give himself something to focus on. He feels the cracked ground beneath his knees disperse the more he grinds against it; the water level has decreased since the beginning of June, leaving only dry marks in its trace.

“That’s enough, Bucky.”

Bucky looks up from his perch, eyes glaring with a heat higher than today’s temperature. To further assert his point that he’s the one in control here today, he goes to deep-throat Steve. It’s been a while since he’s done it, probably weeks, and usually it takes Steve some coaxing before Bucky can swallow that cock and keep it in his throat. Today, however, is different. Today isn’t about Steve, and isn’t about Bucky either; today is about the show Bucky started and will have to finish.

No, not really.

Deep-throating Steve wasn’t part of the deal; heck, Steve will be satisfied with just a quick hand-job so they would gather their stuff and get the hell out of here before someone sees them… This actually is about Bucky’s connection to this place.

He makes a noise suddenly, choked-off and desperate, hoping Steve would do something to make these thoughts disappear. Steve is happy to oblige with his hands splayed out on each side of Bucky’ hair, grips tightly and then snaps his hips.

Bucky’ entire posture stiffens, his eyes widen and travel up but all his sees is Steve’s eyes looking back into his with an unforgiving darkness. He should panic, he should scratch and claw his way out of Steve’s grasp but he simply doesn’t. This is the man he wanted to see in here, and with the anniversary coming up and the memories still surging around, this couldn’t be more fitting.

He cums just from that, keening around Steve’s cock and making the man speed up his thrusts until there’s really no space for air to come in.

Steve feels Bucky spasm and shudder, and so he lets him go despite how hard he still is, only watching how he hacks into the floor, fighting to get some air in. The display is something he would like to relive and revel in.

He twists a fist into Bucky’ disheveled hair and brings his mouth to his hard cock again, when Bucky faces away like he doesn’t even fancy this, Steve tightens his grip on the other’s hair with a hand, and the other to his jaw, forcing his mouth open.  
Bucky feels Steve’s hard cock going into his mouth again and he rejoices; it would have been so boring and unsatisfactory if Steve was happy with just that. Despite the fact that he’s resisting Steve, deep down he knows it’s just basic survival instinct; he wants this probably more than Steve.

The man in question inserts his thumb and cock into Bucky’ mouth, exhaling at the way Bucky chokes on it. He returns his hands to where they were before, and resumes the same unrelenting thrusts.

 

By the time he let him go, Bucky was on his side on the floor, coughing and spitting and swearing. Yet feeling very fulfilled.

“You’re such a vulgar pig,” he hacks as he sits up, the back of a hand wiping away the trickles of cum over his chin and nose; there’s nothing he can do about the mess between his thighs, though. “Always been.”

“If you’re done feeling sorry for yourself,” Steve said “let’s finish and get out of here.”

Bucky watches as Steve lifts the two empty jugs left, uncaps them and then reclines them under the flowing cascade next to each other. Oh, so that’s how he does it. Well, Bucky could have used an instruction instead of spending the entire hour waiting under the sun for the stupid water to reach the top.

Leaving Steve to the job he was appointed, Bucky goes back into the water to clean up, and gets out while Steve stacks the bottles outside the river. He puts his clothes back on, and makes his way to the rabbit to pick it up.

Looking down into the animal’s frightened eyes staring back at his takes Bucky back to the dust-smelling shrubs, to Sam's body being decapitated with cold-blood because one of the killer had found him troublesome. He doesn’t even get a chance to fight it before he’s retching into the floor, expelling whatever he had for breakfast besides Steve’s cum.

Both Steve and Snowie perk up at the noise, watching how one of Bucky’ arms is holding on to the tree trunk while the man lowers his to throw everything up.

Silently, Steve closes the bottles and carries them both in each hand. He returns to where the rabbit is poised, and he tries to lift it.

“I can do it.” Bucky says after clearing his throat.

“You’ve done enough.” Steve responds, now placing the rabbit over Snowie’s back. “Let’s head back.” Saying so, he carries the jugs again and walks towards the shrubs, the dog trotting behind him and the two finally disappear.

Bucky remains where they left him, too anxious and too uncertain to follow them because he doesn’t know if it’s the wisest thing to do, it’s like they’re back to October all over again and Bucky has to stand there and watch the man from his hellish time in the dungeons wreak havoc to his memories and emotions then leave like nothing happened.

 

One glance over his shoulder tells Steve Bucky isn’t tagging along. He faces forward again, expression blank. It’s not like he didn’t expect this to happen, didn’t foresee it even. He knows Bucky has been hanging on by a thread, and it wasn’t Steve’s sick and heartless treatment that cut that thread, it was the memories that have been there all along just around the corner, waiting for Bucky to allow them a chance to storm his mind and shift his loyalty; which, true, it should be to his dead friends, but Steve can’t say he isn’t a little disappointed, disappointed that he thought too highly of himself.

Honestly, with Bucky, it’s like walking on egg shells; you don’t know which one will pop up soon. He’s known this the moment Bucky accepted his confession, known the man could walk out of his life because that life with Steve is smothering, dark and cold.

It was only a matter of time; if Bucky doesn’t return after today, Steve won’t even blame him.

 

The cabin starts to come into view, and Steve finally feels some relief because keeping in the woods is dangerous; a lot of hikers come and go during summer and he doesn’t want to risk it. Climbing up the stairs of the cabin’s porch, Steve pushes the door with his shoulder, allowing Snowie to get in first before walking in himself, placing all the jugs in the kitchen area.  
The door remains closed, and Steve berates himself for the sudden lapse of his judgment; Bucky might not come back. It’s a constant fear always keeping Steve fearful of the morrow and that’s something Steve will just have to live with.

 

  
It’s well past the afternoon when Bucky finally makes it to the cabin; Steve has actually wagered it would take longer than that. Probably forever, but even Bucky is capable of surprising him. He looks up from the book he’s reading beside the window, so does Snowie who’s sleeping at his feet, and they watch how Bucky doesn’t even meet Steve’s eyes as he heads for the bathroom in long, purposeful strides.

Snowie is too fed up with their drama that all he does next is yawn until all his fangs show, before tucking his face between his arms again.  
Because the winters are cold here, the pipes usually need constant thawing, and Steve had had enough the first couple of years he occupied the cabin. Besides, thermostatically controlled heat tapes cost a fortune and Steve had always had better things to spend that money on. A kettle on the fire always did the job better than the insulated pump enclosure which always required fixing. Now that it’s summer, however, and the hot water isn’t usually required, they don’t have to deal with the frozen pipes issue. So when Steve hears the water running, he knows Bucky is taking a cold shower.

 

Less than twenty minutes later, Bucky comes out of the shower with this musky scent wafting after him; that’s what your get from lathering your hair and body for that long. He has his towel wrapped around his waist as he rummages in the kitchen for something to eat.

Steve every now and then would chance a fleeting look at the brunet to read the bad signs, overlooking the sun bites on Bucky’ back and his deep frown and even the hair that somehow looks shorter now, unkempt; Bucky must have cut it inside the bathroom. Steve concludes that things aren’t as bad as he feared. Bucky is just sulking. Steve can deal with that, one way or another.

Bucky isn’t looking for food per se, a glass of water suffices and then he’s making his way to the bed, unwraps the towel and lets it drop to his feet on the floor, before finally climbing into the bed and splaying across on his stomach.

A while ago, Bucky, unable to handle some really warm nights in this cabin where their wild exertions in bed made it even more so, he suggested changing the position of the bed so that the footboard was facing the window instead. Unlike wintery seasons, they can leave the glass open now and enjoy the breeze that comes in and caresses the lower half of the bed that’s facing the window and whoever’s on it.

When Steve looks at his left, instead of his back, he sees Bucky’ brazen display of his ass; the sun didn’t sympathize with that part of the brunet’s body as it is also covered in slightly red patches.

  
Around seven in the evening, Steve forsakes his book, lights up the oil lamp and opts to wake Bucky up; he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and even that has long been expelled from Bucky’ stomach.

With the back of his fingers, he brushes the brunet’s hair and immediately feels a spiking fever and hot sweat sheening the man’s face.

Bucky sighs in his sleep; he’s changed his position during the last two hours and is lying on his side now, facing the wall.

Steve works his bottom lip between his lips, still trying to decide if he should rouse the man or let him sleep the fever off, but Bucky must be starving even if the man himself doesn’t rise demanding for some food.

Although the stew was delicious, and even Sowie agrees, Steve doesn’t know if it’s what Bucky needs. This… Steve helped create this situation. It’s because he was harsh on Bucky, telling him to fill up the jugs without feeling the need to tell him how that Bucky is splayed here, covered in hot and red burns.

It’s because he set up shop in this wretched town so many years ago, that Bucky ended up sick now from remembering.  
He really shouldn’t have come back, Bucky that is. Steve is too weak to leave and a coward to take the initiative, wanting Bucky to make the first move, and be the bad guy…

Christ!

This is killing Steve, and it’s killing them both like a slow-working poison.  
In a random moment where his thoughts are all over the floor, Steve leaves Bucky to make him something –porridge, yeah, Bucky would love that– giving himself some space and time to think.

 

When he finally retraces his way back to the bed, he finds Bucky still in the same position but with his eyes opened to masts. Hesitatingly, Steve places a glass of water and a bowl of porridge on the cabinet, and sits on the side of the bed.

“You’re finally up.” He remarks, his fingers twining with each other.  
Bucky only blows a heavy sigh through his nose, probably too tired to even stir.

“I made you some porridge,” Steve vaguely points at the bowl on the cabinet before working over the bones of his fingers again. “You should try and eat.”

“Not hungry.” Bucky’ voice is raspy, and weak. But they’re getting somewhere if he’s talking, right?

“Nauseous again?”

Bucky shakes his head softly, and then closes his eyes.

Steve doesn’t know how to broach this without saying something out of the line, it’s like stepping on a landmine; Bucky is here despite whatever struggles and battles he’s resisting in his own head, and Steve should be happy with that.  
“I’ll let you sleep then.”  
Steve doesn’t even lift his backside when Bucky speaks again.

“I have a Headache.” He said, and added after a sigh, “It’s probably because I stayed in the sun without a hat on.”

A heatstroke, excellent! A pill isn’t going to fix it, then. “Stay here,” Steve says, finally lifting up completely. He picks up the towel Bucky dropped on the floor and goes to drench it in water.

There’s no fridge so Bucky will have to forgive him. He returns and places the towel on Bucky’ legs.

The brunet lets out a little gasp, the feeling although comforting but was honestly surprising. He moans while Steve rights the piece of fabric on his limbs.

“Better?”

“It feels really good, thanks.” Bucky promises.

Sitting back down, Steve hacks a chuckle, “Don’t thank me” he said, “This was my doing.” And then it comes out before he could even see whether it’s alright to say it or not “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

“Me too.”

Steve wants to rebuff the sound of his heart dropping to his stomach, and the pang which follows, but he can’t. He might have been a psychopathic killer, and even now he has some really sick impulses, but it doesn’t mean he’s without a heart.

“That probably came out harsher than I intended it to be,” Bucky said, now sitting up and pulling the damp towel to his chest. There’s a beat of silence that isn’t as comfortable as the rest of their quiet times together, when Bucky looks up, he sees a moth looping at the mouth of the lantern like it’s having a dizzy spell before finally settling on the rim. “Sam” he starts after Steve thought that was the end of their talk. “He was Clint’s best friend. Although I wasn’t really close to him but I still respected him. He was a good guy.”

Steve watches how Bucky is twisting the end of the towel, but he doubts any water would be squeezed out.

“Five years ago, near that river, I watched him get slaughtered like a cow. I’d been by myself, chasing some dumb rabbit for lunch when I found Brock and Drax dragging his body into the woods, and I couldn’t move.” Bucky’ scowl deepens, and he lets go of the towel to rub a hand on his face. “When they finally took him, I went back to my friends and acted like we were out on a fucking picnic” –there’s a subtle trembling in his voice like he’s on the verge but resisting his tears– “Now I can’t help but think maybe if I did something back then none of what happened next would have happened. If I took them down, there wouldn’t have been anyone else left to hunt us. They were right there, distracted even, but I hid myself like a fucking coward so I wouldn’t be next.”

There’s a small sizzle, and when Bucky looks up again at the lamp, he finds the moth going aflame for going too near to the fire in the middle, but still resisting the inevitable. He looks at Steve now, at his hunched back, at his intertwined hands, and he suddenly realizes telling Steve all that wasn’t for the best. The man is still struggling with his dark impulses, and he really needn’t more guilt to push at his engines.

But Bucky is in this as well.

Every time they go to the river, he can’t keep the resonance of his friends’ screams and the images of Boyd’s decapitated body. Sometimes, he refuses Steve’s invitation to go fishing only because he would rather hide under his blanket than listen to the murmurs of his friends’ spirits echoing throughout the tree lines.

Steve’s been staring at a crooked nail hammered to the floor, brain gears working themselves over until he couldn’t just sit there anymore. He springs up like he’s been electrocuted, hands fisting and stretching at his sides like he wants to punch something and if he isn’t allowed this much space to walk and breathe the wall would take the brunt of his fury.

Steve knows eyes are on him, expecting a wrathful storm or any of the like, but then the fight just seeps out of him like the life leaving that moth burning into ash inside the lantern…

Bucky is unfair.

“You can’t forgive me.” He concludes, now slowly reeling around and taking in the way Bucky is still resisting his tears. “No, that’s not it” –Steve runs his fingers through the strands of his hair, eyes wide like he’s finally made the connection– “You still blame me. A part of you still does, and you can’t shake it off. Isn’t that it?”

Bucky’ silence is all the confirmation he needs.

Steve hacks another chuckle, but this one is shaky. “What happened to ‘I was a victim, too’ Bucky? Or were just saying the prettiest thing to make me the monster and redeem yourself; who cares what psycho Steve thinks, your innocence is more important, right?”

“Steve”

“No.” Steve’s voice, unlike anything any of them expected, is stoic. “I’m not surprised, and I’m not saying I have little faith in you. What I did all those years ago, it can’t be rewritten.” Saying so, he looks down at that crooked nail again like he’s already lost the battle. “I’ve done a lot of evil it’s bound to come back and bite me in the ass, Bucky. I’m not angry that you blame me, I’m angry that it was me.”

“It wasn’t you.”

No, Steve didn’t mean it like that. “I’m angry that I was Jennifer’s guinea pig. I’m angry that it was my future as a neurologist that got ruined. I’m angry that it was my family that got torn apart!”

Before he knows it, Bucky finds himself sprinting from the bed and linking his arms around Steve just as the man howls into the hollow of his neck. He breathes harshly as he listens to Steve’s painful sobs, and holds on when Steve digs his nails into his back for some anchor to keep him afloat all the darkness he’s swimming in. Bucky bites at his trembling bottom lip, the tears he’s fought come pouring down and spilling all over Steve’s hair as he tightens his hold around the man’s shoulders, providing that anchor and that comfort Steve always acts like he doesn’t even need.

Bucky is also a little ashamed that the purpose of everything he said back then was to get Steve to do something for him that includes venturing outside the man’s comfort zone; not this!

“Steve” he whispers into the man’s ear just as Steve starts to calm down. “You’re too harsh on yourself, Steve.”

Steve only keeps the position, face buried under Bucky’ jaw.

“Well, this is awkward.” Bucky said after a long spell of silence. They’re still hugging with Bucky standing stark naked. Well, at least Steve has calmed down. “I don’t know if I should say this because it might be a little too late” –Steve doesn’t make a sound– “Steve, I said what I said not to make you feel responsible. I said it before, and I’ll say it again and I’ll say it anytime you want and I’d still mean it, you were a victim and you are not to blame. I’ve been there, you idiot, I know the whole story.”

Steve starts pulling away, brows crinkled. His nose is a little red and the hairs of his untrimmed beard glisten with the leftover of his tears.

Bucky places his palm on the man’s cheek, smile genuine; sometimes, it is Steve who needs the reassurance. “I don’t blame you, Steve. And I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, the way I know my friends would if they were here and learned the real story. Please, for my sake if not for yours, stop blaming yourself. You’ve punished yourself enough as it is, let Jennifer take some of that burden.”

After a pause, Steve’s scowl thins out. “Then what the hell was that all about?”

Looking guilty with a sheepish grin, Bucky juts his chin at the door’s direction. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

Bucky gives him a pointed look, “you might not like the sound of it.”  
“I just cried my eyes out like a baby, you’re talking or I’m not going.”

“Touché,” Bucky smirks, now sliding that hand down to Steve’s sternum. “Alright, fine. Let’s go there first, you’ll know everything then.”

 

Once he’s dressed, Bucky tells Snowie to guard the cabin as he and Steve who’s carrying the lantern in a hand, head out in complete silence.

Summer nights are easy on them, comforting at times even despite their heat. The two of them get a lot of things done and would still be left with more free time to just hang out, and Bucky really enjoys those moments.

After Bucky was left by the river earlier to make a choice, he could hear his friends’ spirits murmuring again, a hum carried by soft breezes that kept the tree leaves in a constant rustling state, offering any forlorn some company. He could hear whispers, asking ‘why’, their voices a never seizing song.

When he finally made his decision which was to go back to Steve, the whispers stopped.

“What’s the throw for?” demanded Steve, now jutting the lantern closer to Bucky’ hand where he’s holding the throw.

The brunet stares on in silence, keeping his gait steady. “I don’t want ants crawling on me.”

The other creases his brows. He’s already noticed Bucky walking them back the way that leads to the river, and although that and the fact that Bucky is carrying a throw kind of give Steve a pretty decent idea what’s going on, he still isn’t entirely certain; it could all be in his head.

 

Upon reaching the river, Bucky spreads the throw on the ground next some trees, knees down to right it from the corners before sitting down on it. He ushers to Steve to do the same.

The man places the lantern a little far from the throw so they wouldn’t accidently kick it and cause it to break, that could set all these woods on fire. He returns to sit beside Bucky.

As the two listen to the crickets buzzing around them as though in celebration, they can’t help but watch as the river water gets shaded in golden all because the lantern’s flame is dancing like that last flicker of hope.

“You think there’s someone camping next to us?” Bucky asks with his eyes on the waters.

“Um.” Steve replied. “Too late to worry about it, though.”

“Good.” Huffing so, Bucky removes his shirt in a fervent way, tossing it aside and using Steve’s distraction to swing his leg and straddle him, his hands immediately settling in Steve’s hair as he presses their lips together only to stop halfway to peer down into Steve’s green blown irises.

In that second, where Bucky’ eyes are burning with raw desire and his lips quirking into a trusting smirk, everything falls together and Steve lurches forward, taking those lips in his again. The reaction is fucking immediate. Natural, even. Bucky presses against his lips just as hard, just as passionately, with his fingers raking through Steve’s hair like he wants to drag his nails on the scalp and mark him. Bucky groans into the kiss from the dizzying heat and the pounding pain radiating from his head and all over his sunburned skin. He lets Steve spin and pin him against the ground and kiss him drunk, until he forgets everything, until he forgets to breathe.  
Steve feels Bucky’ hands impatiently tugging at the hem of his shirt, and he delights in response because this is really going to where he wants it to. He isn’t going to care right now. He isn’t going to think about the consequences of them exposing themselves to the world like this. He just isn’t going to care because his body is craving this. He aids the other by slipping his shirt past his head, and then his lips are soon ravishing Bucky’ again, the man who isn’t bashful about showing his bare hunger just as he is.

Bucky’s hands clutch at the black locks; how fucking desperate had he been about wanting to do this since the beginning of this morning. He lets the man’s tongue soar inside his mouth and rub his, lets his hands unbutton his shorts so long as he gets to feel the touch of this dark hair on his fingers.

 

Shaky fingers splay and then clutch at the throw, dragging on the fabric and leaving dented marks behind.

“Fuck” Bucky’s knees scrape against the ground with every snap of Steve’s hips. He drags a hand to his ass cheek, and pulls so that the other has more access, and he isn’t discontented with the resultant pleasure as the bigger man pounds his ass.

  
Steve’s thrusts recede bit by bit. He slips his fingers into the brown hair strands, and clenches a fistful, pulling it backward until Bucky whines at the harsh treatment. He bares his teeth and brings them to the pulse point on the pale-skinned neck, just nibbling and eliciting small moans from Bucky.

“Move,” Bucky barks through gritted teeth. “More, Steve. I need more.”

Steve plasters his smile against the skin, letting his tongue lick at Bucky’ earlobe before snapping his hips again and speeding up pace.

Bucky’s eyes go wide at the sensation of Steve’s cock drilling deeper, rubbing at his favorite spots; it’s even more amazing when Steve uses his other hand to jerk Bucky off.

It doesn’t take long before he shoots his cum, and with the pressure rounding his shaft, Steve also spurts cum.

 

What follows is a sequence of harsh and shallow breaths, cutting each other off. Bucky lies there braced on the floor with Steve’s weight on his back, he takes a moment to catch his breath, before superstitiously sneaking from the added weight and flumping to the side.

Steve is still on his knees, his cock tucked in his crotch. He sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip and directs his gaze at Bucky’. The latter prompts up, understanding the meaning behind that look, and, so, he parts his knees and spreads his legs, remaining on his back.

As though under the effect of a spell, Steve moves again, settling between Bucky's legs, hooking his arms under his knees and pressing down against his chest. Steve rests Bucky's legs over his shoulders and presses even lower, bringing his chest over Bucky’ and his nose to the other’s, and he stills.

Bucky takes a few labored breaths through his nose, before huffing “Are you trying to be boring, because I’m fucking bored, Steve.” He props his head off the throw, connecting his lips with Steve’s and enjoying the kiss as it heats up and prolongs.

 

Instead of his shoulders, Steve is keeping Bucky’ legs parted by pressing his large hands on them as his cock keeps thrusting in and out of Bucky’ ass, reducing the man to a withering, moaning mess.

The buzzing of rogue crickets and the rustling of tree leaves fail in distracting Bucky from the absolutely fulfilling sensation of Steve’s hot cock pounding into him.

“Fuck, oh God, Steve!”

The moans alone make Steve delirious in the head. He skews his angle a little so that his knees are off the gourd, the momentum bringing more strength to his thrusts. He watches how Bucky’ pupils sink under his head, mumbling ‘right there’, before he forces his eyes shut. “I’m coming” he yelps, all his blood rushing in his body and the pleasure explodes in him. “Bucky…”

Bucky’ arms wrap around the bigger man’s neck, nails digging into his skin as he readies himself for the searing heat that’s going to seep into his ass. “Give it to me,” he growls in Steve’s ear. “Steve, give me all of you.”

Steve does.

He does and revels in the shade of relief when Bucky doesn’t run away…

 

*******

 

With his breath drawing in, Bucky comes to, opening his eyes and sighing at his surroundings which seem different from the view of Steve’s chiseled chest bracketing him in safety. He hears the whirr of an engine, low and muffled, and hears the chatter of people in his vicinity, almost overshadowing his bated breath. Sitting up, he finds that he’s been coiled on a two seats row like the ones in Sam’s van, the square window right at the side, showing the landscapes this vehicle is zooming past bathing in a light as bright as the sun’s, but not as hot.

Terror seizes him, and Bucky sprints up not knowing what to expect. His suddenness prompts whoever is sitting in the row in front of his to lift up. The sunlight is gushing and the strange person gets shaded in its rays, but when they finally turn and approach Bucky, he relaxes.

“Nat”

The redhead smirks at him, juts her chin for him to scoot to the window so she can sit next to him, and then they both stare through the glass.

The silence only lasts for a beat before Bucky faces her, eyebrows furrowed. “Where’s the van heading to?”

Natasha shrugs a shoulder in a way that is so much like her. “Beats me,” she simply says, “We’ve been on the road for some time now though, doesn’t seem it’s going to stop soon.”

Bucky knows this is but a dream, a creation of his subconscious because you don’t have a sleepover in a crime scene with the alleged killer pounding you and guilt eating away at your heart and not see something like this, so he goes along with it.

Natasha, then, nudges his upper arm with hers. “So you went ahead and did it,” at Bucky’s questioning look, she scoffs and says “you know what I mean, otherwise why would we meet here.”

He really doesn’t know what she means, that is, until Sam, dressed in a plain grey shirt and jeans, comes up to their seats, swollen scars visible all across his neck and arms, and that’s when Bucky remembers that the man was gored in those places with a machete.

“Yo,” he says with his husky, deep voice, now crossing his arms on the headrest of the seats in front to have a better look at them. “I see he’s finally up.”

Bucky takes another long look at Natasha and finally discerns the scars covering her neck and the side of her face, there must be a puncture wound in her chest; a chill goes down his spine and he recoils, his back to the window. “What the hell is going on here?”

Natasha and Sam share a quizzical look, before the redhead blows a heavy sigh.

“Don’t panic,” she said, “you’re not part of this tourist group. Your time hasn’t expired yet,” she looks away “not much I can say about Peter though.”

At the uttered name, said man hollers from the back of the vehicle “As if you’re one to talk!”

Alarmed, Bucky lifts up and twists around, only to find Peter lying on some seats at the back of the van with his girlfriend by his side, although covered in burn marks, she’s smiling in assurance as his face is twisted in pain and his middle finger is raised as a response to Natasha.

Sam chuckles, “don’t be surprised,” he tells Bucky, “It’s probably because the dude never said nice things to people.”

“I remember.” Bucky says, and leaves ‘clear as daylight’ unspoken. If Peter was disdainful towards someone with epilepsy, Bucky wonders how he was towards normal people. A quick onceover shows him Wanda sitting by herself, sad eyes on the window. “Where’s Edwin?”

Sam shrugs both shoulders as he eyes the brunette across from them. “No one knows,” he said, “he never showed up here.”

“Maybe he’s on a different trip.” Natasha comments.

The two men stare down at her, before Bucky flumps on his seat. The redhead follows Bucky’s eyes with hers, and then, out of the blue, she smiles.

“You okay?”

Bucky nods; he doesn’t know what or where this is but he can handle it. “Yeah, sure.”

After a beat, Sam asks “are you happy?”

Bucky’s doleful eyes travel up to Sam’s and they’re wide and vibrant, they overwhelm Bucky. He parts his lips to answer but then considers it for a moment, what they really mean and, God, the realization knocks him off his socks. He nods, but this time falteringly.

“You don’t seem too sure, bud.” Sam jests, sharing a chuckle with Natasha.

Bucky lowers his head, not knowing whether or not it’s wise to answer, but he owes it to them and so he does. “I am,” he starts, “I’m happy. I’m sorry.”

A hand comes batting at his hair, rendering it unkempt. And when Bucky looks up in reproach, he finds the other two smiling at him.

“You’re not angry?”  
Natasha checks with Sam first before answering, “We used to be, but we also came to know what happened all those years ago, it wasn’t Steve, well, not technically. And since you endured a lot to keep us all safe, you deserve this happiness.”

While Bucky gawks at her, Sam makes quick motions with his fingers, “We don’t hate you, man.” He assures, “We don’t exactly like your boyfriend either, but if being with him is the reason you think we’re angry then it’s all in your head.”

“We want you to be happy.” Natasha finishes for him.

Bucky’s eyes are trembling, looking from Natasha’s to Sam’s, before they finally shed tears because how miserable has he been, all those years, wanting his friends’ forgiveness. Now, they were offering even their acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” he cries, “I’m so sorry, but I love him.”

This time, those fingers pet his hair instead, and that’s what breaks Bucky’s tears into wrecked sobs.

“Don’t you think it’s time for you to move on from what happened?” Natasha wonders, and Sam adds “You’ve punished yourself enough as it is, I think it’s time. Nat?”  
The lady nods, “I think so, too.”

Overcome by his tears, Bucky doesn’t notice he’s awake until he feels Steve hugging him closer, that chest of his offering shelter.

“What is it, Buck?” he whispers into the brunet’s ear, “A bad dream?”

Far from it, actually.

Bucky clings to the man with all his might, more sobs wracking his body as Natasha’s smile and Sam’s kind eyes start to fade away. He clings to the man with all his might, because he knows his friends won’t hate him for it now.

“Steve,” he starts, his hands linking together behind said man’s neck and his forehead nuzzling the bearded jaw. “Steve, I just had the happiest dream …”

 

***

  
When he left Steve’s cabin this afternoon and came home to grab some beer and food, Bucky never expected to find Clint, dressed in a flamboyant shirt, flip-flops, cargo shorts and matrix sunglasses, waiting on him at the door, his duffel placed next to his feet like he’s in Hawaii waiting for the bus.

“’The hell are you doing here?” Bucky’s been swinging the keys in his hand but stopped the moment he found his best friend lifting up from his squat to greet him.

“Nice to see you, too, pal.” Clint removes his sunglasses and immediately squints under the onslaught of the beaming sun coming from the frosted windows, “I missed you, too.”

Bucky nibbles at his bottom lip for a moment; alright, he may be in the wrong here, but Clint should have learnt by now that unannounced guests are the worst type of people, the last time stands as proof. He walks up to his friend and blows a small sigh, arms linking around Clint. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I’m really happy to see you.”

As they pull away, Clint smiles up at his friend with his thin lips. “You too, bud.” He said, “And before you accuse me of stuff that don’t exist, I did call to say I was dropping by, you just never picked up.”

With fingers scratching at his temple, Bucky nods, “Yeah, sorry, I forgot my phone when I went jogging this morning.” Lies come so easily to him now; he’s been doing it for

months.  
Clint, however, eyes Bucky’s cork sandals, “in those?”

“Are you lecturing me about the way I dress, seriously, you?” Bucky feigns the tone of someone offended as he motions to Clint’s shirt, but what he’s really trying to do here is distract the other from his lies. “You ruin The Matrix’s reputation.”

Just like that, Clint catches the hook, giving himself a searching onceover. “What’s wrong with the way I look?” He quickly pins Bucky with a pensive look though, “Hey, Buck, I’ve been calling since yesterday but you never answered, what’s up with that?”

There’s a pause where Bucky’s panic renders him speechless; he left the phone home because he’d already spoken with his father and told him to say hello to Clint, so there was no need to take it to the cabin where there’s already no signal. As he gulps, he feels the lump in his neck bobbing up and down.

“Battery was dead.”

 

Luckily for him, Clint’s attention span is shorter than a dog’s. “Whatever," he said, now leaning down to pick up his duffel and, by doing so, he misses the way Bucky blows a silent breath of relief. “Open the door, will ya? My throat is parched.”

As though on auto-mode, Bucky brings the keys and opens the door, going in first, his eyes start fast-scanning the room for anything that might have been left behind by Steve. Clint shoots his flip-flops at the wall like a teenager and walks in farther towards the living-room, where he finds Bucky rearranging whatever’s on the coffee table. He drops his duffel to the floor and makes his way to the kitchen, mission to find a cold beer accomplished as he pecks it out from the fridge, and returns to slump on the couch with a grunt.

Assured that nothing here is out of place, Bucky flumps on the armchair at the side, “How’s Laura?”

Clint takes another swig, sighing wistfully at the soothing sensation down his dry throat. “Good,” he answers, “She’s great, man. I think she’s the one.”

Brows lifting up, Bucky scoffs, “How do you figure?”

There’s a pause where Clint’s eyes focus on the surface of the coffee table, and then they look up at Bucky’s. “I just know.”

Nodding, Bucky asks “how’s everyone else?”  
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; they both know the anniversary is in two days.

Clint shrugs a shoulder and swings an arm over the armrest of the sofa, his posture fully relaxed. “They’re moving on,” he said, “but they’re not forgetting.” And then he added, more seriously “No one’s ever going to forget.”

Bucky lowers his gaze. “I know,” he said, but he didn’t count on the flashes of his dream coming back to him, and he stills completely as what if’s convince him to try and see Clint’s take on it. “Hey, Clint,” he starts, and the guy hums in response, seemingly distracted by whatever memory is playing in his head; this particular time of the year always plays with their minds. “You remember what I told you about Steve” –Clint snaps a glare at him and Bucky almost forgoes his attempt at finding out his best friend’s thoughts on this– “About the hypnosis and everything…” he trails off, hoping Clint would take the hint already; it’s hard enough to bring this up, he doesn’t think he can delve into it any more than he’s done.

“Yeah, I do” Is all the shorter man said.

“Alright, here’s a hypothesis for you” he said, fingers twining together. “Let’s suppose Steve never died in the fire, and, with the psycho shrink gone, the hypnosis wouldn’t be in effect–”

Clint cuts him off “what’re you trying to say?”

The look in Clint’s eyes doesn’t waver, and

Bucky sees the admonishment clear in them for even bringing up the killer’s name. He doesn’t think it fair to Steve; the man suffered enough for his crimes, he’s lost everything and he’s not hurting anyone anymore, someone should recognize that aside from Bucky. “I’m saying if Steve were to show up again, what would you do?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Just, humor me.” Bucky licks at his lips swiftly. He’s sitting at the edge of the seat, fingers intertwining and popping. “I’m telling you that, hypothetically speaking, Steve didn’t die in the fire and he’s back, but you already know that he had no control over his past actions, what would you do?”

Clint looks… offended, oddly enough, he doesn’t act on it. He lets out a deep sigh after an intense beat of silence, “it doesn’t matter if he was under hypnosis or not,” he finally said, “he killed people, he’s a monster, and monsters should be put down.”

Every nerve in Bucky’s body that has gone taut, aches now, and every flutter of his heartbeat that has gone up, comes to a gradual stop.

“Someone has to pay for those deaths, alright? Whether it’s that psycho killer or his psycho shrink, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

It wouldn’t make a difference?

Is that the conclusion one would come to after learning the truth about Steve’s career that was destroyed, or his future that was flushed down the drain, or his family that was killed many years ago? Is this really the only justice there is, couldn’t people see that the man’s suffered enough, but they have to compare him to his shrink, too? And not only that, but he has to be put down, like some animal?  
“Is that really what you think?” Bucky’s voice is small, like he’s beseeching for a change of opinion, a jesting ‘Nah, just kidding. I would give Steve a chance because everybody deserves a chance’. But he gets Clint’s blatant honesty instead.

“Yes.” Clint simply says, “That’s what I think. Why should I give that monster any reprieve, it’s not like he deserves it. He killed and tortured people, he raped you for months. He’s not getting my sympathy no matter what.”

Suddenly, it’s like a switch gets flipped, and all Bucky wants is for Clint to get the hell out of his apartment, out of his life, and to never come back. The twinkle in his eyes dulls and the knot in the pit of his stomach undoes. He lets go, his tense shoulders sagging and his posture relaxing. He had a feeling Clint was going to say something like that, in fact, he is positive that if he asks anybody else, they’d give a similar answer. They all want to see someone pay for the deaths of those young people, if Steve is caught, they would send him to the gallows like an offering, and rejoice at the sight of his last breath leaving his body. And, Bucky, no matter how disappointing this reality is, or how opposing it tends to be to him, he’s not going to give up on Steve.

“Why are we arguing about this anyway? That psychopathic bastard is dead, and we’re alive. We survived, Buck, cheers for us.” Saying so, Clint lifts the bottle up and then to his mouth, all unaware of the waves of despise crashing inside Bucky’s head.

“Yeah,” There’s a blank look in Bucky’s eyes, “cheers.”

  
***

 

Splayed on his bed, Bucky stares at the ceiling, his arms crossed under his head. There are distant grunts of birds turning in their nests, probably sleep-cooing. He hears the muffled noise of static coming from the living-room where Clint is sleeping on the couch.

 

Earlier, there were throngs of people crowding that restaurant which Bucky frequents; he thought it had to do with the fact that it was a summer holiday. As he was seated across from Clint in a corner booth, two turkey clubs and two opened beers on the table, and jazz music in the background drowning out the people’s chatters, Clint started expanding on why he believed Laura is the one, how greatly supportive she is, how forgiving and kind she is, and how understanding. Bucky had been listening, with undivided attention, to every word spoken and yet deriving the meaning from what remained unsaid. Clint was his childhood friend, he knew him like the back of his hand. He could read the subtle hints Clint was dropping since a part of him felt like he couldn’t describe Laura and do her justice.

He listened because he didn’t want to dwell on the little voice whispering evil things in his ear about Clint.

“At each anniversary, she would stick by me, never leaving my side.” Clint said, his eyes on the bottle neck in his hands. “Last year, I was so pissed at you” –he gave his friend a cheeky smile– “for obvious reasons, of course.”

Bucky returned the smile, “Screw you.”

Barking a sudden laugh, Clint nodded, and his laughter recedes. “But, yeah, was so pissed that I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I got angry at the smallest things, I don’t know, I guess it was because of the reminders around every anniversary. But, Laura, she would know how I’m feeling and she would spend the entire night by my side, even if we’re not saying anything.”

“She sounds like an amazing person.” Bucky commented, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip.

“She is,” Clint affirmed, “and that’s why I decided, I’m going to ask her to marry me at the beginning of next month.”

Bucky lifted surprised eyes, “That’s –shouldn’t you give it a little more time?”

Clint shook his head and took a swig of his beer, “No need,” he said, “she’s perfect for me. I’m not getting younger and nor is she, we make a good living, and she’s happy with me, well, at least I hope she is, so there’s really no need to wait anymore. I’ve made up my mind.”

They made a toast for that.

The music in the background changed: something Indie and a little bubbly lightening up the atmosphere, and Clint’s mood. The man pinned Bucky with an amused look before asking “what about you?”

Bucky looked up. “What about me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Clint groaned, pointing the bottle at him. “You’re seeing anyone?”

The pupils in his eyes trembled, and he quickly lowered his head. “You could say that.”

“Ho, ho, now, we’re talking!” Clint sneered, some of his teeth showing. “A he, or a she? Let me guess, another Peter?”

Rolling his eyes at him, Bucky gulped his beer, “None of your business.”

“Like it or not, if they’re fucking my best buddy, it makes it very much my business.” Clint said, “Now talk.”

There was a pause where Bucky’s defiance kept him from saying anything; the person he had been dating was not someone Clint would vouch for, or respect, or accept. Bucky had had better think it through, but before he could do that, he was already saying “He’s nothing like Peter, in fact, he’s nothing like anyone I’ve been with before.”

Clint had obviously given him some time to sort out his thoughts to voice them out, but seeing that Bucky wasn’t saying anything else, he said “Is he the source of those red marks on your neck?”

Bucky snapped terrified eyes at his friend, finding him staring blankly at his neck.

“You either didn’t notice, or you did and just didn’t care if they showed.” He pointed out, “I actually had some doubts that you liked to show them off. Do you like that kind of stuff now, Buck? To brag about being toyed with?”

“Take it back.” The accusation was visible in Bucky’s eyes, but that didn’t deter Clint’s resolution.

The other shrugged, “Deny first and I might.” –Bucky narrowed his eyes at him in question, but Clint’s blank stare relented, and he started chuckling– “I’m kidding. Dude, I don’t care what kind of sex life you’re leading, as long as you’re happy, it’s all good.”

Bucky’s stare started to soften as well, the corners of his lips barely lifting into a smile.

“Is he treating you right?”

With how their relationship had been, Bucky was still foreign to how things ought to be between them. He did not know whether what he and Steve did was tolerable just because it had been justifiable due to their past together, or had he just been going with the flow, allowing the abuse because one) reassurances would soon follow, or two) he had always liked it that way.

“Yeah” Bucky eventually decided that, no matter how bad it had gotten, Steve always showed how much he cared in his own roundabout way. “He is.”

“Good.” Nodding, Clint said “It’s reassuring to know you still have no game with the ladies, though.” He winked at him.

Giving another eye-roll, Bucky took a larger gulp of his beer. “You can have them,” he huffed, all in good humor. “So long as she doesn’t have a dick, I’m not interested.”

“Hey, you might enjoy being pegged, alright?” Clint defended, “a lot of guys do.”

“You sound so sure,” Bucky teased, “have you tried it?”

Flustered, Clint said “No fucking way, man. I like giving it, and I like the person I’m giving it to, so I’m happy with what I’ve got.”

“I’m happy with what I’ve got, too.” Bucky simply said.

There was a beat of silence where Clint regarded his friend with a deep stare, before finally smiling up at him. “That’s what matters.”

 

When they arrived home again with Bucky practically dragging Clint’s drunken ass, and finally tossing him on the couch where he would be sleeping until the next day, Clint rose from his stupor to stare dazedly at his friend as the man stood there watching him.

“You coming back with me?” he slurred.

Bucky gulped; he knew why Clint was here even if the man had said nothing all the time they’d been together. “You know I can’t.”

“It’s the fifth year, Buck.” Clint sat up, neck cranked up so he could keep his unfocused eyes on Bucky’s, “You owe it to our friends.”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, and wetted his lips. “I owe them nothing,” he said, “Even if I did, I’m sure I’ve been forgiven a long time ago. I’m not going back to that place, not for you, and not for the empty caskets. I moved on, Clint, I’m going to live my life from now on and forget everything.”

“You fucking bastard” Clint’s temper had always been the worst if inebriated. “They died for us; they died so we can live!”

“True,” Bucky said, uncrossing his arms. “Don’t you think they’d be happier to know that we are?”

Clint frowned up at him.

“My loyalty to them is something that doesn’t need to be proven by attending the ceremony, Clint. Please, try to understand that with the way I am, I can’t go back, and I can’t face anyone.” He said, “I’m not ready.”

Lowering his head, Clint said “That’s always your excuse.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky sighed, “But the way I see, I’m not ready. If our situations were reversed, you’d have at least been able to understand. But you can’t. No one can. Please, just don’t make me do this.”

There’s a moment of prolonged silence, and then Clint leans to the back and blows a heavy sigh.  
“Fine, have it your way.” He said, “But if they start asking, I’m not covering up your ass this time.”

Smiling, Bucky said “I never asked you to.”

Clint rubbed a hand over his face and slid sideways, ready to sleep. “What about you?” He elaborated after Bucky arched a brow, “your theory about Steve earlier, what would you do if the psycho was still alive?”

That honestly caught Bucky off guard, and he found he’d gone pale and wide-eyed. “There’s no point pondering a hypothetical, Clint, and you know that.”

“Yeah, but–”

“No buts, man, you’re tired, and so am I, let’s just go to sleep.” Bucky whined, turning to leave.

There was something being said, it sounded muffled, but the bits that had manage to catch up to Bucky’s hearing made the man halt in his tracks. Reeling slowly, he took in the way his friend squirmed on the sofa, muttering promises to his best friend.

“Nothing will ever happen to you again, Buck, I promise.”

Bucky stood there, overshadowing him, smirking down at him amidst the silent darkness; did Clint think Bucky’s reaction earlier had been because he was scared of Steve and what imagining him still alive would mean to him? Oh, Clint was truly in bliss of ignorance, which Bucky was happy to maintain if the man would just grab his things and leave in the next dawn.

“Good night, Clint.”

“’night” The man murmured, sleepily.

 

Bucky looks away from the ceiling, an arm still pillowing the side of his head and the other wedged between his folded knees. He hopes for sleep to come, but he knows no such thing will happen…

 

 

 

 

  
Unlike what he thought, sleep did come to him eventually, and did take him to a land of light-hearted dreams which Bucky forgets the moment he twists around and grabs his phone from the nightstand to check the time. It’s past the noon, and he isn’t surprised; he spent the night struggling to free himself from the grip of those evil whispers, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was turning in his bed to sleep on the colder spots.

Upon entering the bathroom to wash, Bucky finds Clint sitting at the toilet with his face on his phone. They acknowledge each other with a curt jut of chin, before returning to their business.

With his teeth brushed, Bucky reels around, an arm braced over the rim of the sink and the other on his hip, and he says “thought you’d already left.”

Clint’s eyes travel up at him, “disappointed?”

Bucky sneers. “Very.”

Clint looks at the screen of his phone again, elbows on his knees, the sight of his shorts pulled down to his ankles ruins whatever this tough façade he’s trying to trick Bucky with. “Laura called, said she booked a ticket for me” he informed, “I’m leaving around five.”

With the hand on his hip, Bucky scratches at his neck, “How many tickets again?”

Without looking up, Clint asks “why, changed your mind?”

“Not a chance,” Bucky defends, now turning to leave. “I’m going to make us something to eat, any special orders?”

“Banana pancakes!”

Bucky shakes his head sadly, “you fucking pussy.”

 

  
The afternoon was slow, long and unbearably hot, and the longer it dragged on, the surlier Bucky got. He counted the minutes for when Clint would finally leave, twisted his bottom lip between his teeth waiting for the clock to hit five already.

When it finally did, Clint got off the couch to get ready, leaving Bucky to the rest of the movie they started together. He moved around the apartment, collecting his things from the bathroom, his phone charger from the kitchen, and stocking his duffle bag with a beer and two small water bottles. At last, he returns to where he left Bucky lounging on the couch, and hands him a small box.

Bucky lifts his eyes to him after scowling at the box. “What is it?”

The other shoves it closer to his best friend, “just take it” And added after Bucky took the box, “it’s a gift from Laura and me.”

Curious, also delighted for receiving a gift, Bucky opens the box, finding a harmonica with the italic word Manji engraved on its black surface, he turns it in his hands, taking in the carved words, the holes, and the shining metal coating the object.

“Looks expensive.” He comments, eyes still beholding the harmonica.

“Yeah,” Clint said, now pushing his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, “Eighty bucks.”

With a look of surprise, Bucky faces the other, “Eighty bucks for this thing?”

Clint shrugs, “We paid forty each,” he said, “Do you like it?”

“I have to, after hearing the price!”

Clint makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and an exasperated exhalation. “Don’t worry about it, man” he said, “We wanted to do this for you. Laura was the one who suggested it actually, said you might enjoy learning how to play the harmonica.”

“Yeah, I can blow.”

“I have no doubt in my heart about that, my friend.” Clint said on a scoff.

“Screw you, okay?”

Lifting up, Bucky shoos the other towards the hallway, “Get out already, leave, and, just, go back to your girlfriend.”

Breathing out a small laugh, Clint picks up his duffle and heads to the door, Bucky following behind with the harmonica in a hand. “You sure you don’t want to come with?”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky says “how many times do I have to keep repeating myself?”

Clint stops and turns when they’re finally by the door, all playfulness gone. “What about after the anniversary, would you come if I invited you to the wedding?”

Blowing a long sigh through his nose, Bucky nods. “Do you even have to ask” he said, and added after Clint looked so disappointed, “Of course I’d come to my best friend’s wedding.”

Lightening up, Clint nods.

“Actually,” Bucky holds up a hand, “Wait here, I have something I’d like you to deliver to Laura, as a ‘thank you’ gift for thinking of my well-being.” Saying so, he turns and goes back inside, leaving Clint grumbling about becoming their messenger.

Bucky remembers buying matching coffee mugs with the words ‘You’ and ‘Me’ painted on each cup; he’d planned to take them to the cabin but never had the chance to. Now, he thinks it’s a wonderful thing that Laura and Clint can have them. He finds them in the cupboard, still in their box. He places it on the counter, and looks around for a piece of cloth to wrap them in so they wouldn’t break: Clint isn’t the type of guy to worry about stuff like that.

After being done, Bucky carries the box in two hands and walks back toward the hallway, when he finally looks up from where he’s stepping, he grinds to a halt. A cold numbness spreads all throughout his body, making him lose the sensation in his limbs, and the box falls from his hands, its content making a muffled shattering noise.

A furious growl followed by Clint shoving his forearm into Steve’s neck make Bucky wish this were a dream. Clint looks different, like nothing his countenance has ever displayed, he looks maniacal. There are angry veins popping all over his neck and temples. He’s putting all of his strength on his limbs to keep Steve pinned to the wall.

“Steve–” Bucky is trying to speak, but it seems the numbness has reached his tongue too early.

Clint snaps a glare at Bucky, lips tight. “What the fuck is the meaning of this, Buck?” he glowers, “why does he own a fucking key!”

Bucky’s eyes fleetingly glance up at Steve’s blank stare, the man refusing to look his way. There really is no explanation if Steve used the key to come in, nothing can deny the theories Clint must be building with the other two keeping silent.

“What the hell is going on!?” Clint roared, pressing his forearm more against Steve’s neck.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Steve suddenly drawls, “Jesus, we have to explain it to the slow ones.”

Bucky glares at him heatedly; egging Clint on is not what they need to be doing right now, what in the world is Steve thinking.

The look of anger in Clint’s stare morphs into bare confusion as he faces the man from his nightmares, “Wha…” he breathes out, “what are you saying” –he turns that gaze on Bucky instead– “what’s he trying to say, Buck?” when the man remains quiet, Clint bellows “Talk!”

Bucky jumps in his skin with his eyes shutting, hating to see the feeling of betrayal manifesting in Clint’s.

“You weren’t supposed to know” he finally talks, his voice small and scared. “Clint, I’m sorry, I’m –”

Clint cuts him off “shut your mouth,” he said, darkly, “This is sick, you’re sick.”

Bucky lowers his head against the blows, he knows he deserves them.

“Since when?”

Ignoring the sharpness in his tone, Bucky sniffles and answers, “Since October”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Buck” at this point, Clint sounds so defeated, as though he’s also hoping to wake up from this. “You’ve been fucking this psycho for a whole year?”

Bucky only gnaws at his bottom lip, keeping silent and hoping Clint would give him a chance to explain, and maybe even understand their situation.

“For a year–” Clint cuts himself off to think for a moment, “Wait a second, this is why you asked me all that stuff yesterday?” he faces Bucky who’s lifted his chin up to probably give off a strong impression, “You prick, did you lose your fucking mind? You asked me that, knowing this psycho is very much alive.” He marvels, “Just what did you hope to accomplish from that?”

“Clint, please” Bucky takes a slow step forward, “just let me explain.”

“Explain what,” Clint blares, “That you’re spreading your legs for a maniac who killed all of our friends?!”

Then Steve’s voice breaks the silence again, “so being angry gives you the right to be a dick to your friend?”

“You shut your trap,” Clint, despite the height difference between them, lands a kick to Steve’s middle, and doesn’t allow him to double over. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he admitted, “You killed my friends, and tortured my girlfriend, what right do you have to lecture me about my mannerisms?”

“So you’re blaming him for what I did back then?” Steve sounds calm, stoic even, unlike anything Bucky expected.

Clint lets out a scoffing breath, “what’s with the personality transplant, dickhead? Did you retire from psycopathy and join a temple?”

“I was manipulated to kill, you moron,” he said in response, “not all killers are born psychopaths.”

“Oh, yes, that whole hypnosis story,” Clint smirks, “Well, you see, you might have fooled Bucky with that, but you can’t fool me. You’re a killer, you enjoy it. It’s in your blood. I saw it in your eyes multiple times, you asshole.”

Bucky decides it’s worth the risk of a punch and moves even closer.

“Clint,” he starts, “I understand your frustration, but just give us a chance to explain.”

“Buck!” The man warns, “It’s unwise to reason with me right now. This isn’t something you can just shove under the rug and hope for the best, okay? First of all, you’re harboring a criminal, a serial killer, and second, you’re playing boyfriends with a monster who enjoyed watching all of our friends die gruesomely. There’s nothing to explain here, Buck. You have to open your eyes and see what kind of crap you’re in!”

“I see that you’re unfamiliar with the term prima facie,” Steve hums, “Alright, what do you want to do now, since you’re being so hard-headed?”

“Call the cops, Buck.” When said man refuses to budge, Clint sends him another glare, “Move your ass already.” As Bucky remains motionless, Clint glares at Steve instead like it’s somehow his fault. “I see what’s going on here, you’re threatening him.”

Steve, unable to hold it in, scoffs. “I’m the one being threatening?”

“Does he have some sort of leverage or material to blackmail you with, Buck?”

“Negative,” Bucky answered, now placing a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Just let him go, okay?”

“Not gonna happen.”

Bucky and Steve exchange a look of worry, before the brunet says “I know that you’ve been expecting bigger things from me, good things, and I tried to be the person you all want me to be, but, Clint, I can’t defy reality.” He said, and strangely, he felt lighter for finally admitting that aloud. “When I met Steve again, he didn’t want to have anything to do with me. He was broken and lost, like I was, and for that, I forced my way into his life again. I never regretted that decision in all those months we’ve been together.”

Clint shakes his head vehemently, “this is insane…”

“You’re my best friend, my brother, and my ally, Clint, I promise I’m hurting for choosing him whenever I think of our deceased friends, but I don’t regret my choice. Steve was being manipulated to kill those people, it’s the truth that I’d been through hell to find out.” He starts to tug at his friend’s arm now, “Just let him go, and I promise we’ll be out of your life before you even realize it.”

Clint looks at him with hurt in his eyes. “Why do you have to vanish, when all this is his fault?” Saying so, he releases Steve’s neck only to grab at his collar instead. “Just die, already, die you fucking psycho!”

“Clint, please!” Bucky’s tugging starts to become more desperate.

“Did you twist his mind too, huh?” Clint propels the bigger man, anger turning his face red. “Did you program him to go nuts after hearing nebula, too?” –Bucky’s eyes snap up at Steve’s that remain blank– “How did you convince him with that lie!”

 

It is said that natives who lived their entire lives by the sea can read the advance of a tsunami, and those who lived in deserts, can foresee the weather, but neither Bucky nor Clint predicted Steve to twist his arm over and then around the latter’s arms to swivel his upper body and smack Clint’s head against the wall, making the man fall to the ground without a noise.

  
As Bucky stands there, trying to understand what just happened with a look of horror on his face, a hand on the back on his head clenches and bangs the side of his head against the wall, and then complete darkness.

 

 

 

 

There’s a dull ache in his head that is gradually growing insistent, and Bucky answers the call to wake up, his eyelids slowly parting open, unfocused pupils flitting about and sinking under his head, only to come to focus thanks to the onslaught brought on to the side of his head.

“Wakey, wakey”

Hearing the disembodied voice, Bucky glides his eyes up, catching sight of a blurry shape in his vision. He blinks, and Steve’s amused eyes and lopsided smirk looking down at him finally brings him to harsh awareness.

“Man,” Steve, who’s seated on the coffee table, marvels, “that always fascinates me.”

Bucky tries to recoil, the action instinctual after sensing that something isn’t quite right with the man’s cold smirk or the darkness in his eyes which he only saw while shackled to meat hooks. He only manages to scrape the side of his bruised head against the panel of the floor, and that’s when he realizes that the movement of his limbs has also been restricted. He looks around; a simple examination of the room from his spot tells him the ugly news: Clint is also bound to the other armchair’s foot, but unlike Bucky, he’s sitting down, his chin on his chest, obviously still in the clutch of his dreams.

Steve follows where Bucky’s looking, and then looks back at the brunet, “oh, him?” he says, “He’s going to be fine, worry for yourself.”

Bucky’s beseeching then is muffled with a cloth, he realizes, and all he manages is a garbled noise through his parted mouth.

“Nah uh,” Steve swings his index, “I’ve caught on; I’m not going to be locked up again, alright? I guess it’s been fun, you know, playing house and all” –he smirks down at Bucky, the way that used to send the man to a cold sweat– “but fun time is over, or, should I say it’s starting now?”

Bucky goes for a kick, but he finds his ankles are tied together with a belt, and all he manages to do is kick the side of the table and hurt his knee.

With a leg over the other, Steve braces an arm on the table top and the other rests over his lap. “I must say, I kind of miss our times together, Buck.” He blows a wistful sigh, “You and I together with the toolkit, and the house?” –He shakes his head sadly as though he’s regretful he can’t have the dungeons again– “those were the days, love. Those were truly the days. Instead, now I have to scrape by in the woods like a dirty rat, how laughable!”

A noise in the back brings his expressed monologue to a stop, and he looks behind, finding Clint slowly lolling his head while grunting at whatever pain radiating from his head.

“Oh, you’re up already?” Steve gushes, “Excellent, let’s have that long-awaited reunion, shall we?”

Bucky props his head off the floor to watch what Steve is planning to do now that he’s lifted off the table; this isn’t happening, this is worse than Clint finding out Bucky and Steve have been sleeping around with nobody knowing. He remembers Clint blurting out the forbidden word, the key to Steve’s madness, but it remains strange. It’s been years, why was Steve’s psychosis still connected to that keyword?

They were in the process of explaining to Clint that what they had was special and that Steve had changed; having him get a sudden relapse does not bode well for any of them.

Not that it matters, really. What’s done is done, but what’s important now is to find a way to fix this, and fix Steve. He knows it can be done, their past stands as proof, but with the cloth so tightly fastened around his mouth, he doesn’t know how Steve, his Steve, is going to be able to hear him.

Steve flumps down on the armchair with a grunt, his arms on its rests, and he moves the hand closest to Clint’s head to the man’s hair, fingers playing with the blood-dried locks. “I have to hand it to him,” he starts, “Whenever I brought your friend to your room, things would always wound up interesting. I wonder what sort of fun we can have now, I feel giddy just thinking about it.”

Listening with every nerve in him standing alert, Bucky realizes that there’s something different about this Steve. He just can’t quite fathom it yet.

“Agh...” Clint finally lifts his head, the scene coming into focus for him. The minute he sees his best friend strapped and gagged, he starts to pull against his own bindings, the inability to voice out his anger through his own muffled mouth makes him furious.

“Since you’re up, let’s start the show.” There’s a happy glee in Steve’s voice, and Bucky on the floor is getting more and more anxious about that subtle and unknown change in Steve. “It’s been a while, so forgive me if I seem undecided,” he said, “but rest assured, I will consider your enjoyment as well. After all, we’ve become so close now, I say we’re friends.”

Clint twists his head just in time to catch sight of Steve’s evil sneer, his struggles, and the force behind his squirming is renewed at the sudden hit of flashbacks of what this man has done and what he is capable of.

He screams, despite knowing that the piece of cloth on his mouth will mask it all. He rages and raves, anything to escape the hell he went through five years ago.

Steve clicks his lips a few times, his fingers on Clint’s hair clenching, immediately bringing the man to a cautious still. “No need to be too excited,” he burrs, now bowing to whisper into his ear, “We have the whole night.”

The dark voice benumbs Clint’s body like a cube of ice.

“I’ve been thinking of ways to pass the time,” Steve brings his legs one over the other again, his chin resting on his knuckles. “It’s been a long time since I did this, and I can’t really believe it. I remember sending Bucky away at the day of the fire, but after that it’s all blank. Actually no, I kind of know the continuation to that story, and I’m not surprised to learn that Bucky and I have gone dormant for an entire year just to play boyfriends.”

Bucky catches his friend’s glare aimed at him, and, unable to handle the judgment in it, he lowers his gaze.

“But, Bucky” said man looks up sharply, “Did you honestly think that it’d work? You were basically living with a loaded gun held to your head, it was just a matter of time before it went off,” Steve added on a smirk “and I guess there’s no better timing than today.”

Steve is in a merry mood, that’s what’s off about him.

Usually, during his captivity, whenever the psycho was in a merry mood Bucky would end up in a bad condition, whether his body would get bruised or his ass would get torn, it never was a happy day for Bucky. Now, he doesn’t know if it’s correct of him to apply the same conjecture on this Steve, but dealing with a psycho serial killer is a roll of dice, really. You can never rely on theory and conclusion.

“So, listen you guys” the other two are, even if they don’t want to. “I know this might seem like a tough start, but how about ‘do it or your friend dies’?”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
